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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27948851">Elk. Blood. Heart.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stale_Cinnamon_Roll/pseuds/Stale_Cinnamon_Roll'>Stale_Cinnamon_Roll</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mithridatism [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Z Nation (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>10k-centric, A lot of backstory in this one, AU - Altered 10k Backstory, Because it's the 'flashback' story lol, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Set During Ep108, What an interesting tag! Wonder what that could mean...</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:14:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>38,911</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27948851</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stale_Cinnamon_Roll/pseuds/Stale_Cinnamon_Roll</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Now finding herself as the group's leader, Warren is determined to do whatever it takes to ensure their survival. Her first task is finding enough water to keep them all alive. But her second? Make sure that whatever it is that the kid may need protecting from isn't going to endanger her mission. If only the kid would talk to her...</p>
<p>Having had more time to think, Murphy discovers a mission of his own. He's not sure if he'll succeed but that doesn't mean he shouldn't try, right? Even if his methods may be a little unorthodox. Even if they could lead to his intentions being wildly misunderstood.</p>
<p>As they take shelter in a morgue from a litertal fracking Zunami, 10k finds himself with little to do. He knows he should grab some much needed sleep while he can but his mind is racing. Since he cannot sleep, he instead thinks. Remembers.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>10K/Murphy (Z Nation), Tommy/Jeff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mithridatism [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1442032</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which 10k squrims.</p><p>Then, Warren gets a psych 101.</p><p>Finally, Doc thinks he's a history teacher.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Astra inclinant, sed non obligant</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The stars incline us, they do not define us</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Shit…”</p><p>Warren shoves away from the sink, its taps stubbornly dry. Of course, it wasn’t going to be that easy. Nothing ever is. Fucking Apocalypse…</p><p>She leans back against the kitchen counter, staring around uselessly. The doors on the solid oak cabinets have all been haphazardly flung open, disorderly victims of her searching. Not that her efforts had been fruitful. This family home had died a long time ago, its remains thoroughly picked clean.</p><p>The building itself had been in remarkable condition for three years into the Apocalypse. It has clearly been cared for, something that she had foolishly allowed to raise her hopes. Suppose that’s only because not many would have bothered to wander so far out into the middle of nowhere, Arkansas. Now she can see why: there is fuck-all out here for anyone to survive on.</p><p>Warren had thought stumbling their way into this backroad hamlet had been a much-needed stroke of luck, pulling their dying truck over and clambering out to bark her orders. That hunk of junk is like an oven on wheels now that they can’t use the air con, every drop of water in the radiator and ounce of fuel in the tank worth more than gold. Stripping off their jackets and opening the windows had been enough for most of them, 10k once more being the anomalous point. That boy had taken refuge out in the bed at first, Murphy taking it upon himself to keep him company. At least that meant a quieter ride for the rest of them. But soon the sun had started catching on the kid’s pale skin, his nose and cheekbones threatening to colour with a stinging red tint.</p><p>Last time they’d pulled over in search of water, they’d pilled out of the truck to find an unamused Murphy frowning down at 10k. That poor boy had been draped over the side of the bed in a way that she wouldn’t hesitate to describe as dramatic had it been anyone else doing it. Seems that the summer Arkansas heat has turned her asocial little Rambo into a literal shrinking violet. To help prevent him from wilting further, Doc had gently prodded him into shedding a few layers of clothing so he could better withstand the heat inside the truck. The kid had reluctantly stripped off his shirts before casting the long sleeved one aside and slipping the thin camo one back on alone, feeding his scarf through his beltloops and securely tucking the ends away.</p><p>And that when she’d first seen them.</p><p>10k has scars. Lots of scars. Much more than she’d been expecting for someone who claimed they lived alone. They’re not just along the outside of his now-exposed arms, either, but across his torso too. While their revealing had been enough to make her pause in shock, what had really knocked her off balance had been how everyone else had just… shrugged at it? Ignored them? It’s like they had ready known…</p><p>Had Garnett been aware of them, too? Could those scars have something to do with his final wish? And has she herself really paid so little attention to the boy as to be the only one left unaware?</p><p>She’s always been one to believe that it’s never too late to try and correct one’s course so, staring up at the decorative oak beams crisscrossing above the kitchen, Warren makes up her mind – she won’t let this opportunity pass her by. They badly need water and had split into two groups to search the hamlet, Warren teaming up with the kid. Since she’s conveniently manufactured a way for them to be alone together, why not kill two birds with one stone? After all, while getting to know the kid better, she can also judge the validity of Garnett’s final wish.</p><p>As she’d been searching the kitchen, she’d ushered 10k into the pantry. The sounds of him rattling around in there had quickly stopped but she’d taken pity on him, leaving him alone to take refuge in the cooler room, a short respite from the summer heat that seems to affect him so greatly. He may not have been much use in searching but that boy had more than earned his keep by killing Zs. When they’d first crept into the kitchen a Z had lunged out at them from behind the pantry door. Before Warren had even had the time to register and react to the danger, her little Rambo had swung his rifle up and cracked its skull with the butt. Before she’d even lifted her own gun, the Z’s brains had splattered along the exposed red brickwork, staining it black.</p><p>With 10k himself seeming to favour such blunt methods, maybe that’s how she should best question him.</p><p>Popping her head through the pantry doorway, Warren smiles at the kid leaning into the wall, his cheek pressing against the cool stone. “Any luck?”</p><p>10k startles, swiftly peeling himself off the wall and turning to the nearest shelf. His brows drop into a façade of concentration as he eyes up empty boxes, studying them with an intensity that suggests they may hold the key to discerning the meaning of life. Shooting Warren a sideways glance to see if she’s buying his act and realising that, no, she is not, the kid sheepishly drops his gaze before shaking his head.</p><p>And Warren cannot help the almost fond smile that fights its way onto her lips. Sure, she may not know too much about him but what she <em>does</em> know is that her little Rambo really seems to have a way of endearing himself to people. Looks like she herself is no exception to this.</p><p>She’s not mad at the kid for hiding things from her. How could she be? He’s a deeply private person, and more so than most, so this heat really must be getting to him if it’s made him bear something he’d rather keep under wraps. Everyone has things in their past that they’d rather hide though that choice is isn’t always theirs to make. Especially with something so… visible.</p><p>Dark eyes drift along toned forearms, the skin pale and defensively silvered. These are the only scars of the kid’s still observable, with exceptions for the one slicing through his eyebrow and the little nicks peppered across his fingers. Someone has hurt this boy, and it wasn’t a long time ago either. While most of the scars have turned silver, some are still a gentle pink, yet hardly any of the ones she’d been able to see had begun to fade. These are Apocalypse injuries, but the kid had told them he’d been alone and Warren has never met a Z that used a knife. Could 10k have lied to them? Or has he simply been unfortunate enough to cross paths with monsters again and again?</p><p>The longer she has thought about it, the more she’s certain that the others’ lack of surprise indicates that Garnett had probably known about the scars, too. Could they be the reason that the man had believed 10k to need protecting? What demons had he dug up from the kid’s past? And what had he feared could happen? These are all things she needs to know. The more she is aware of, the better prepared she’ll be to lead this group. If something from his past comes back to haunt that boy – something that could cause <em>problems</em> – then she’s not sure she’ll be able to honour Garnett’s last wish. Fulfilling that request could potentially put Murphy in danger, after all, and Warren’s other mission will always take precedent.</p><p>Standing here in the doorway wondering isn’t going to answer any of her questions, though.</p><p>Warren shifts, her posture demanding the kid’s attention. “Rambo.” She keeps her voice under strict control, all the firmness of a leader without quite holding the sharp edge of a barked order. “Can I ask about those scars?”</p><p>10k’s face predictably changes, the sheepish look sliding from his features, leaving a guarded and wary blankness. And it had only taken a heartbeat. If Warren had blinked, she’d have missed the transition. The boy has once more thrown up his protective walls, determined to keep her out. She might as well go ahead with her questioning, then. Put that poker face through its paces.</p><p>“That’s a lot of scars for someone who spent the Apocalypse avoiding people.”</p><p>The kid’s face doesn’t move.</p><p>“Three years is a long time to spend alone.”</p><p>Not even a twitch.</p><p>“If you lied, this is your chance to come clean.”</p><p>Still nothing.</p><p>Seems like she can’t brute force an answer, not if she wants them to remain on good terms. Perhaps she should try a different approach, then. How would Garnett have gone about this? That soft-hearted man would have used a gentler style in his line of questioning, right? Of course, he would. His paternal streak had run deep.</p><p>Warren sighs, trying to force her face to soften, leaning slightly onto the doorframe. “I’m just trying to understand, 10k. Three years <em>is</em> a long time. You must have been lonely.”</p><p>And his brows drop, cracking his poker face. The movement is minimal, something easy to miss if she hadn’t been watching out for it. Knowing that the jig is now up, the kid lets his brows cinch further, a frown twitching along his lips as his eyes finally stray from hers. “Used to it. Always been alone.”</p><p>The Lieutenant doesn’t let this minor victory go to her head, instead racking her brains for anything she can jam into this crack; to rend it further open. And then she remembers something: Doc had told her that the kid had been home-schooled. “You didn’t go to school, right? Does that mean you didn’t have any friends? Or a girlfriend?”</p><p>At that, the boy’s fingers unconsciously seek out the blue scarf no longer draped around his neck, quickly correcting themselves and dropping to his waist where they stroke along pale silk. Swallowing thickly, he shakes his head. “N-no girlfriend…”</p><p>She’s pushed too far; pressed too deep into a wound unseen and yet unhealed. From the pain that had flashed through his eyes before he’d forced them blank, she knows that that scarf of his bears great significance. It’s a source of comfort from his past; one from before the Zs; one that Garnett might have known about. But as curious as she is, and as important as it may be in understanding the final wish of the man she had loved, she knows when to pull back. 10k has skills that will be sorely missed if she were to inadvertently push him away. And anyway, she doesn’t mean him any harm, not really. She’s just trying to get to the bottom of this. Garnett has left her with a riddle, and the only clue to the answer is wrapped up in the kid’s own enigma.</p><p>Whatever danger 10k may need protecting from is unlikely to be an imminent one. If it had been a murky cloud looming over them then Garnett would have actually seen fit to trust her with his concerns instead of leaving her in the dark. As he hadn’t, that only means that she has plenty of time to figure the kid out.</p><p>She can’t let their first solo team-up end on a sour note, however; not if she wants there to be a second. She needs to find a way to ensure he comes back round to her side. A way to tell him that she understands. That she can be trusted. And there is one thing that they have in common: their grief.</p><p>“Cassandra told me what you did at the gun show.”</p><p>Wide eyes snap up to hers, a flash of fear marring grey. The kid’s face pales, the rosy flush of heat sliding away and leaving him looking an almost sickly shade. His foot moves as if to step further away from her, the back of his boot banging against the wall with a thud she feels in her heart. Of all the reactions he could have shown her, Warren would never have predicted this one.</p><p>“10k, it’s okay. You don’t have anything to worry about.” The fear starts to waiver, a tentative hope daring to creep in and take its place. “I’m not mad at you. Why would I be? You didn’t do anything wrong.”</p><p>The kid shifts slightly forward, no longer desperately plastered against the wall, a glimmer of relief begging to mingle with the slither of permitted hope. “You’re okay with it? With… With what I did?”</p><p>“Of course, I am, Rambo. If anything, I’m relieved.”</p><p>10k’s brows draw in, his head tilting to the side, hope and relief giving way to confusion at her purposely vague words. This reaction had been much easier to predict, the conversation having fallen back safely into her control.</p><p>Warren softens her face again, the gesture much more natural this time around, even letting a sad smile shape her lips. “You came to me for help and I turned you away. I’m relieved that you found someone else to talk to. He was a soldier, right? From what Cassandra said, he sounded like a sweet guy.”</p><p>The kid once more breaks eye contact. His face closes off slightly, his expression once more familiar, something resembling his usual stoic disposition. Licking at his lips, 10k shifts his hands up from his waist to fiddle with the tape holding together the strap in his worn-out bag.</p><p>“Guess you’re not as bad with people as I’d thought. Out of all the people there, you managed to home in the one who could help you. You certainly seem to have had a better time than me, anyway. I was busy drowning my sorrows in the bar while you two were having fun playing with your guns.”</p><p>Gloved hands tighten on the bag strap, colour flowing back into the kid’s cheeks, his eyes refusing to meet her own. Is he embarrassed? By which part? She knows that a lot of guys find it difficult to talk to about feelings, never mind one so seemingly wary of human interaction. But it could also be due to the compliment she’d given him. Is he so used to being on his own that he doesn’t know how to take them? Because if that’s what this is then Warren must admit that it’s kind of cute in an almost endearing way.</p><p>The only actual new information she’s managed to wring from the kid is that he didn’t have a girlfriend pre-Z, a fact that isn’t really that surprising considering how shy he can be. She can’t truly call this first half-hearted interrogation a total loss, but she can’t consider it a victory, either. Surely, then, there won’t be too much harm in giving the kid just one more little compliment…</p><p>“Met plenty of guys like him when I served with the National Guard. They can get protective over their kit, especially their guns, so I’m impressed. You must have really made an impression on him for him to so readily give you one.”</p><p>A muted cry, one strangled and whiny, creeps up 10k’s throat. Grey eyes shift, locking on to the sliver of space left in the doorway as if sizing it up for an attempt at escape. And Warren decides to take mercy on him. The kid doesn’t so openly emote often, preferring to keep his cards close to his chest, so seeing him react this way has given her more amusement than she’s gotten in… In longer than she cares to admit. But as unexpectedly entertaining as watching 10k squirm and blush has turned out to be, she shouldn’t be taking her frustrations at failing to get more information about his past out on him.</p><p>With one last gentle smile, Warren steps back into the kitchen.</p><p>Her blushing Rambo doesn’t let a single second go to waste, his heavy boots padding surprisingly lightly for someone moving so fast. Switching his grip from his bag strap to his rifle sling, 10k dodges around her with ease before scuttling off across the kitchen and disappearing from sight. His inaudible footsteps may hinder her attempts at tracking his progress through the house, but she knows exactly when he bursts out onto the street.</p><p>“Hey, easy there, kid. Something wrong?”</p><p>Doc’s voice pulls her eyes to the window. She watches, almost fond, as 10k shakes his head at the old guy on his way passed, the kid only slowing as he scarpers his way back to the truck to briefly stoop and graze his fingers along some roadside flowers.</p><p>Warren has always been bad with children, one of the many reasons why she’s glad that she doesn’t have a single maternal bone in her body. Those sticky little humans are way too unpredictable for her liking, and they don’t have enough of a grasp on the world to properly understand and follow orders. Sure, 10k is almost an adult and certainly has proven himself to have enough smarts to survive in the Apocalypse, but he’s still not as easy for her to read and communicate with as the others under her command. But she’ll keep on working on it. She has to. Because she needs to figure out if whatever Garnett had feared to be tracking that boy through the Apocalypse is an imminent enough threat to be of a concern to her too, never mind if it could jeopardise her mission.</p><p>Doc’s heavy footfalls announce his presence long before his voice does, the old guy peering around the kitchen curiously before settling his eyes on her. “What was all that about? Kid came scarpering outta here like a rat out of an aqueduct!”</p><p>“Nothing, really. I was just trying to get to know him better. We barely know anything about him.”</p><p>And the old guy frowns, clearly disappointed. “You bombarded him with questions, didn’t you?” He doesn’t wait for her to answer, instead rubbing at his eyes with a sigh. “Look, when it comes to the kid you can’t always just straight up ask what you want. You gotta warm him up a bit first. Ease him into it.”</p><p>Doc has a big heart. She’s known this since they first met. Out of everyone at Camp Blue Sky, Doc had always been the best at befriending the newcomers; at getting them to open up to others and meld seamlessly in with their new neighbours. If she’s going to take anyone’s advice on how to best approach that boy, it’s going to be Doc’s.</p><p>Warren steps over the dead Z, gesturing for the old guy to head back down the hallway, following on close on his heel. “So, what should I do?”</p><p>“Hmm… When the kid’s around, try talking to someone else. Just pick something similar to what you wanna ask and hope he joins in. The better he gets to know you, the more likely he’ll be to throw in his own two cents.”</p><p>“And that really works?”</p><p>“Has so far for me and Murphy. As for Cassandra, she’s had more luck. Kid’s really fond of her, after all.”</p><p>Maybe Doc already knows something. Something that she could use… “Has he told you anything important? Like something about his past?”</p><p>Finally reaching the front door, Doc pops out onto the street, stopping a few steps later. “Enough to know he’s had it tough. Real tough.” He pauses, glancing over to the truck. The kid is perched on the edge of the bed, watching in amusement as Cassandra and Murphy bicker back and forth, the young woman seated at 10k’s side. “Y’know that kill count of his? Turns out that the kid’s dad was the first Z he killed. Can you imagine what that would be like? His own dad…”</p><p>Warren frowns, shaking her head. “No. He may have given his father mercy, but he didn’t count him.”</p><p>The old guy’s brows lift. “And why would you think that?”</p><p>“Because he told me when I asked about–” <em>About Garnett…</em> “About something else.”</p><p>“Well, look at that. Seems like he’s already warming up to you.” With a smile, Doc turns back down the path, heading once more to the truck. “It might take a while but if you stick at it, he’ll open up in no time. Before you know it, Ten will be coming up and asking <em>you</em> the questions! Seriously, the kid’s like a damn owl, perched up in his tree and taking everything in, good <em>and</em> bad.”</p><p>Now it’s time for Warren to smile. “Oh, it was <em>you</em> he asked about what ‘daddy’ meant.”</p><p>She doesn’t have to see Doc’s face to know he grimaces – it comes across clear enough in his voice. “I’ve always been one to count my blessings. One of them was Cassandra being there to answer for me…”</p><p>Almost back at the truck, their conversation comes to an end in favour of listening in on their companions. Stepping onto the road and being mindful to not tread on the flowers by the curb, turns her attention towards the kid.</p><p>“So, most people are bad.”</p><p>Cassandra groans, looking like she’s about to start tearing her hair out in frustration. “But if that’s true, why are you helping them survive?”</p><p>10k shakes his head, defiant. “I’m not.”</p><p>“Yes, you are!” The young woman’s eyes light up, smiling as she throws a hand out to point at Murphy. “You’re helping us transport <em>Murphy</em>. If you really believed that people are inherently bad, why are you helping <em>them</em> by helping make the <em>cure</em>?”</p><p>His mouth opens, going to answer, but as his eyes lift to Warren’s own, he snaps it shut. Pulling his gaze away, the kid seems to close off, his arms pulling in tight. One hand grips his bag strap, the other delving lower to trace fingers along blue silk.</p><p>Cassandra looks between them and 10k, her face mostly curious despite the worry creeping into her eyes. Murphy seems to take it in stride, however, only seeing fit to roll his eyes. Then, in the most predictable move the man has ever made, Murphy opens his mouth to pick up where 10k left off in arguing the case against humanity.</p><p>“And how do we know that Princess here is helping out of the goodness of his heart, hmm? How do we know he doesn’t have other, much less <em>pure</em> intentions in escorting me?” As Cassandra takes her turn to roll her eyes, the arrogant man stifles a grin, pretending to ponder their philosophical conundrum. “Ten <em>does</em> have a point, though. I for one know that enough people are downright <em>dastardly</em> that I feel not a single shred of guilt for the things I happened to do in the past. Everyone <em>is</em> out for themselves, after all.”</p><p>“come on, man. You can’t seriously believe that.” Fixing Murphy with a troubled frown, Doc decides to wade into the mires of the topic at hand.</p><p>“And why can’t I?”</p><p>“Because it’s just straight up not true.”</p><p>“Oh really? And how would you know?”</p><p>“Because there have always been people who help!”</p><p>The con man just continues to grin at him, brows arrogantly raised in disbelief. But Doc doesn’t back down. Not when he knows that 10k is eagerly listening in. Instead, the old guy takes a moment to collect his thoughts, fingers scratching idly at his beard. Then, his eyes light up, a little smile of his own tugging at his lips.</p><p>“People have always helped others. It’s part of what makes humans so great. And I’ve got the perfect example. Natural disasters.”</p><p>Murphy snorts, interrupting Doc. “Please tell me the ace up your sleeve isn’t relief appeals and money drives. Little old ladies handing over a few pennies and celebrities donating their literal pocket change in exchange for good publicity? Speaks more of a boring dystopia then the altruism of our species.”</p><p>“Nah, man. I’m talking about the people at ground zero. Those at the epicentre of destruction. People like to say is that everyone will panic and turn on each other but that’s rarely actually happened. Instead, what people <em>really</em> do is look for a way to help.</p><p>“Take that big earthquake, the one that set San Francisco on fire. When was that again? The early nineteen hundreds?”</p><p>“Nineteen oh six.”</p><p>As the kid speaks up, Doc smiles over at him as Murphy scowls. Even Cassandra looks amused, making Warren realise that the old guy had purposely played into an area likely to draw 10k in. It’s him that Doc is trying to sway, not Murphy, and from what she’s heard 10k has something of an interest in American history.</p><p>“Thanks, kid. So, yeah, between the earthquake and the fires, a lot of the city was destroyed and lots of people lost their homes. Like you, Murphy, the government thought people would turn on each other so they were reluctant to send in rescue workers. So, the people helped themselves. The sick and injured were looked after while others searched the ruins for supplies. Anything they found was pooled together and given to whoever needed it. Food, water, warm clothes and blankets. Didn’t matter what it was. If they had it and you needed it, it was yours. They even set up soup kitchens big enough that just one could feed hundreds of people a day.</p><p>“Sure, there <em>were</em> people looking out for only themselves. Plenty of rich folk trying to buy their way out of the city. Not that anyone took them up on their offer. There were injured people who needed that stuff more. Because people are inherently good. They always have been. For every single person only thinking of themselves, there will one hundred more doing whatever they can to help.”</p><p>As he finishes, Doc smiles at Murphy, daring the arrogant to contradict him. To try and talk his way out of this corner in his desperate reach for victory. Casting a glance 10k’s way and find him contemplative of the old guy’s tale, Murphy grits his teeth and plays his last card.</p><p>“But that only affected one city. A solitary corner of the country. We’re in a full-scale Apocalypse. A global zombie pandemic. An earthquake taking out a single city is no comparison. It’s a false equivalence.”</p><p>And Doc’s grin only grows, his face lighting up with triumph. Because Murphy had stumbled headlong into a trap so obvious it might as well come equipped with its own glowing neon signs.</p><p>“Province Town. Camp Blue Sky. We weren’t the only ones out there trying to help, man. You just didn’t wanna look.”</p><p>Murphy scowls, crossing his arms and sulking against the truck in a way most becoming of a self-titled ‘Saviour of Humanity’. With a quick lick at his lips, the kid reaches out to him, fingers gently brushing against his jacket collar. But Murphy just waves him off, pretending that his tail isn’t tucked neatly between his legs as he turns away and clambers silently into the truck to pout in peace.</p><p>Cassandra slides along the edge of the bed until she’s leaning into 10k’s side, her hand sneaking out to tug at his fingers. “So, what do you think now?”</p><p>He glances down at her, pale eyes curious and questioning.</p><p>“Doc or Murphy. Who do you believe more?”</p><p>The kid just frowns, the hand not in Cassandra’s stroking tenderly along blue silk. “Used to think like Doc. Some people want to help. Not many of them.”</p><p>Cassandra’s eyes become tinged with sadness as she presses closer into his side. “‘Used to’? What changed your mind?”</p><p>10k pulls away from her, his face closing off as he slips from the edge of the bed, boots silent where they meet the road. “Met more people since the Zs than I did before.” Slipping his rifle from his back, he slinks towards the truck door, aiming to join Murphy inside.</p><p>However, when Doc steps forward, he stops, turning to face the old man.</p><p>“Three years is a long time, kid. You really saying in all that time you didn’t meet many people who wanted to help? Who didn’t ask for anything in return?”</p><p>10k takes a moment, just staring into Doc’s eyes as if judging the intent behind the old man’s words and measuring the weight of his own reply. His expression is eerily blank, closed off behind a poker face that even Warren is reluctant to crack.</p><p>And when he finally turns away to climb into the truck, the words he leaves for the old guy make it clear this conversation has ended.</p><p>“Doc. You were the first.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That tag though...</p><p>Well, here we are: first chapter of a new story. This episode doesn't have too much to work with so I'm repurposing it for some much needed introspection and whole heaping of backstory.</p><p>The title is the name of a song by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zAla2f8EPSg">All Them Witches</a><br/>It's a strange song but it has the perfect feel for a major part of this story.</p><p>As always, thanks for reading and please let me know what you think.</p><p>&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Murphy tries his hand at interior design.</p>
<p>Then, he makes his move.</p>
<p>Finally, he decides it's time to clean the crumbs out of his jacket pocket.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>:'F</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Murphy had been hoping that it would go back to how it used to be.</p>
<p>His relationship with the young man kneeling before him, that is.</p>
<p>He had fucked up; he had pushed his Princess away; he had witnessed something that had made his stomach churn with a blend of acid and emotion more nauseating than he had thought possible. But he had also dug deep and pushed on through it; he had coaxed Ten back to grieve at his side; he had admitted that he actually cares for the little shit and had taken the first step to protecting him in the only way he thinks he can. In a way that he hopes learning if it’s been successful is something that will never come to pass.</p>
<p>Even with all that he’s done to correct that one heartrending mistake, his hopes that their relationship could return to what it once was had been in vain. It hasn’t. It never will. Sure, it seems the same but… But something is different. Because Murphy himself is different, now. And so is Ten.</p>
<p>After the truck had slowed to a crawl, the engine wheezing out one last laboured gasp before falling silent, they had no choice but to walk. Not that they had gotten very far, their abandoned truck still in sight when dehydration had dragged the others to the ground. Ever loyal 10k had tried his best to urge them onward but Warren had waved him away, croaking out an order to keep searching for water.</p>
<p>That’s how Murphy had found himself alone with the young man. Truly alone, not just sitting in the truck bed as they marched onwards to California.</p>
<p>Murphy reaches out with a hand, sinking rough fingers into the soft black hair of the young man kneeling before him. It’s gotten longer, his hair; the new growth is doing well to hide the previous uneven cut. As much as the man wants Cassandra to just hurry up and sort it out already, an clean cut right now would leave it too short for him to run his fingers through…</p>
<p>Not that he does it that often. And he doesn’t even enjoy doing it <em>that</em> much. Just something to help pass the time.</p>
<p>10k leans into his touch, his pleased hum little more than an appreciative purr rolling up his throat. Not that the young man lets the attention distract him, flushed face still locked in determination as nimble fingers remain diligently at work.</p>
<p>It’s taking longer than usual today: 10k normally finishes much faster than this.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong, Princess? You not feeling it? We can try something else if you’d prefer.”</p>
<p>Ten pulls back, glaring up at him. The annoyance flashing through those beautiful pale grey eyes is something that always pulls a teasing smirk to Murphy’s lips. “M’fine. Just… The heat. Let me try a little longer.”</p>
<p>And with that he stubbornly starts up again, hands twisting to try a different grip.</p>
<p>Murphy sighs. As much as he likes to watch his Princess, he doesn’t like to see him struggle. Especially like this. It doesn’t matter the level of skill or how much it’s desired: sometimes it just doesn’t happen. And there’s nothing wrong with that, as frustrating as it feels.</p>
<p>Still, the man guesses he’s found yet another piece of evidence to hurl onto the ‘no longer human’ pile, hasn’t he? Unlike his wilting Princess, this heat isn’t affecting Murphy at all. In fact, he’s the only one still fully dressed! Their lack of water has proven to be a major problem, too. They haven’t had anything to drink in a few days, though this hasn’t been as rough on 10k as it has with those they’d left by the main road.</p>
<p>And as for Murphy himself, well, he hasn’t been thirsty at all.</p>
<p>With the sounding of a soft click, Ten slides his pick out of the lock, a relieved sigh ghosting over his chapped lips. Murphy’s grin smooths over, the young man’s eventual success more reassuring than he’d realised it would be. Nudging a large hand back into that mess of dark hair, this time the man playfully musses it up. “Well done, pretty boy.”</p>
<p>Tilting his head, 10k cocks a brow as the smile gracing his face takes on a suggestive slant at the praise. The young man always did like that particular pet name.</p>
<p>And that’s why Murphy uses it so sparingly.</p>
<p>Disentangling his hand from fluffy black to instead help his Princess to his feet, Murphy shakes his head in faux admonishment before nudging the door open. “You and your filthy mind…”</p>
<p>The store is small, befitting such a tiny town. The shelves are as numerous as they are varied, advertising a little bit of everything at a price marked up in an overt tax on convenience. The extra would still work out cheaper than the gas used to drive to the next town over, though. After glancing around and finding no Zs in sight, 10k heads straight for the checkout counter, vaulting over it with the level of grace normally attributed to a cat.</p>
<p>No, a cat seems too… <em>Domesticated</em>.</p>
<p>With how silent his fluid movements are while stalking his prey; with how seamlessly he blends in with the wilds; with how casually he’d told the stories of his battle scars that night they’d found themselves alone in the motel… If Murphy was pushed into a comparison it would be much more fitting to settle on something formidable and unconstrained.</p>
<p>
  <em>Ten’s more like a fucking mountain lion…</em>
</p>
<p>Finding the food section picked bare, Murphy paces up and down the aisles to see if anything useful still remains, eyes mindlessly sliding over dusty picture frames, an assortment of bags, and even a box of the most frightfully boring socks in existence. Not only has this Apocalypse been going on long enough to have become a repetitive bore but he’s a gambling man at heart so he can give a pretty good estimate of the likelihood of stumbling upon a treasure trove of supplies. Doesn’t really matter too much, anyway. Some things just defy the odds, flying brazenly in the face of all reason. He would know – he’s one of those things himself, and another is rummaging through the displays by the checkout.</p>
<p>So, Murphy paces, his gaze idly drifting along some shelves of barbecue accessories. Could anything be more useless than those? With little else to do, the man snatches up a set of tongs. The wooden handles are cheap and coarse, their quality depressing enough to make his skin crawl. Shit like this would never get within a ten-mile radius of his old state-of-the-art kitchen. Not that any of this stops him from testing them out, the metal tips smacking together with a harsh clack. Why is doing that always so satisfying? He never could resist it.</p>
<p>Carelessly casting them aside, he wanders on, turning a corner and ending up staring at an over ambitious home décor section. Okay, he’ll take back what he’d said earlier: <em>this</em> is more useless than the tongs. Sure, Murphy himself may have some semblance of taste but everyone else he’s been unfortunate enough to encounter has seemed perfectly content to slum it. As he casts his eyes over a basket of cheap satin pillows, that sardonic part of his mind is almost glad that he’s not going to be around for too much longer. It’s almost a mercy for him to be forcibly vivisected in the names of ‘Science’ and ‘The Greater Good’ when the alternative is living while surrounded by <em>this</em>. Using those as scatter cushions would be downright <em>barbaric</em>.</p>
<p>He eagerly turns away from the sickening display only to immediately wish he hadn’t because <em>what</em> in the ever-loving <em>fuck</em> is <em>that</em>‽ Brazenly enthroned on the wobbly shelf opposite is a throw blanket. It’s not the colours that offend him, the two varying shades of grey complementing each other well. No, it’s the design. The intent was obviously to simulate herringbone, a pattern classic enough to blend seamlessly in with both traditional and contemporary themes. But on this travesty the pattern hadn’t been woven into the fabric of the throw. Instead, the crime scene laid out before him had been printed. Yes, <em>printed</em>. They’d taken a light grey fleece and <em>printed a rough facsimile of herringbone onto it</em>!</p>
<p>He’s disgusted. Murphy is absolutely, irreconcilably repulsed by the very idea that a human mind could birth such an abomination. Doc can preach the good word about the ‘inherent good’ of his species all he likes. The mere existence of this… this <em>thing</em> is proof enough to Murphy that not a single human being in existence is worth saving.</p>
<p>Not that any of this truly matters. Once they get to California, he’ll consider himself lucky if Merch grants him a ratty blanket and a flat pillow for however long she chooses to keep him alive. Murphy’s future holds no range cooker with a six-burner stove; no solid wood parquet flooring on which to lay fur rugs; no wife whose soft and delicate skin is bared to the sunset chill as she wears nothing but jewels and a smile.</p>
<p>A crow of triumphant laughter rings out from behind the checkout counter. The despondent man turns in time to witness Ten popping back up into view, his black hair fluffed up into even more a mess than the one Murphy had left it in. With a sunny grin, all lopsided and as close to innocent as the man dares to attribute, 10k thrusts his gloved hands into the air, each one clutching a few unopened packets of cigarettes.</p>
<p>And Murphy cannot help but smile back at him.</p>
<p>Okay, fine. Maybe the species has <em>one</em> member left worth saving. But he’s the <em>only</em> exception! Why else would he be trying to help the adorable little shit out? The group dragging him back to that bitch of a doctor is smaller now, the fewer members leading them to protectively close their ranks. Even with Garnett no longer breathing down his neck, Murphy hasn’t been able to carve out much alone time with Ten. And he means <em>real</em> alone time. Even right now they’re being tracked through this useless store by the knowledge that the others are depending on them.</p>
<p>A shard of fear pricks between his ribs, making him wince. Time isn’t on Murphy’s side and he needs to make sure. He needs to do what he can, while he can. He owes 10k that much.</p>
<p>The young man weaves through the aisles towards him, hands gingerly teasing his bag open to squirrel away their cigarettes. Every time Ten so much as touches that bag Murphy half expects it to finally disintegrate. Seriously, it had been more than worse for wear when Doc had managed to coax 10k out of the wild. Now threadbare and barely clinging to life thanks to diligent repairs, that bag is explicit proof that his Princess holds more faith in duct tape than Murphy ever has in anything…</p>
<p>Still, it’d be a shame for it to fall apart at the most inopportune moment – their cigarettes are in there! Knowing that Ten will follow him without question, Murphy begins retracing his steps. He’d seen some bags in here somewhere, he’s sure of it. Even though there is not a drop of water to be found, it seems their little adventure in breaking and entering has been of more use than simply helping them satisfy their shared vice.</p>
<p>The assortment of bags is, well, bags. Nothing exactly special about them. Some are bright and colourful, others more muted in tone; solid colour, stripes, polka dots, and whatever other design a small-town shopkeeper thinks could pull in profit. There’s even an American flag, be of course there is.</p>
<p>As 10k steps up beside him, Murphy flicks a hand out with a flourish. “You’re not the only one with a knack for finding things. Might as well change over while we have the time. I’d never forgive you if those smokes are lost due to your carelessness.”</p>
<p>His brows furrowing in thought, Ten tilts his head to the side as he takes in the bags. Clearly not one to ponder his fashion, it doesn’t take long for the young man to choose, a gloved hand soon reaching out to grasp a bag.</p>
<p>A fuchsia one.</p>
<p>With purple and yellow flowers.</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>And the young man’s hand pulls back, dark brows furrowing further as he turns to him with searching grey eyes and a questioning look. “Why not?”</p>
<p>How is Murphy going to explain this gently? For a guy so desperate to stay in the closet, the last thing 10k should be doing is flirting with his devilishly handsome travelling companion while wearing a pink and flowery backpack… Despite how his usual brashness can make him seem, Murphy is actually capable of tact should the situation require it. “I think that this is one of the few occasions where the more pertinent question is ‘why?’”</p>
<p>“I like them.”</p>
<p>“Like what? The flowers?”</p>
<p>Ten nods, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “<em>Viola tricolour hortensis</em>. They’re pretty.” His smile grows, now lopsided as he grins up at the man. “And edible.”</p>
<p>What can Murphy do with this guy? Seriously. What <em>can</em> he do but stare down back at him, either unable or unwilling to fight the smile sliding onto his own lips? Even now, after all the time they’ve spent together and everything he’s learnt about him, the young man still finds new ways to catch him off guard. 10k: Killer of Zombies, Protector of The Saviour, and now Lover of Flowers. It would be absurd if it didn’t somehow suit him.</p>
<p>Unwilling.</p>
<p>Murphy’s unwilling to fight this fond smile.</p>
<p>“And what would us normal people call them?”</p>
<p>Beautiful grey eyes narrow, head tilted once more, though this time in deep thought. “Depends on the shape and colour. Viola? Or heart’s ease.” With a shrug, Ten turns back to the bags. “Most just call ‘em pansies.”</p>
<p>“Well, as cute as they may be, you should choose another bag.”</p>
<p>His Princess shoots him a suspicious glance. “Why? It’s just a pack.”</p>
<p>And the man just rolls his eyes. “The flowers are fine, Ten, but fuchsia? Really? It will clash with your scarf.” A lie has never rolled off his tongue so easily. “Fashion has already been murdered enough by this Apocalypse. And here I was thinking you only wanted Zs for <em>your</em> kill count…” Quickly scanning the bags, Murphy points out a simple grey one. “Not only would that one be much kinder on the eyes, it’d actually form a cohesive outfit. But don’t let me influence you. It’s your bag, after all.”</p>
<p>Murphy may throw his hands up in a playful dismissal, but he can’t deny the twinge of anxiety that tightens across his chest as Ten reaches once more towards the bags. So, when those slender fingers grip onto coarse grey fabric rather than soft pink, it takes all his strength to not let loose a sigh of relief.</p>
<p>It doesn’t take the young man long to transfer his stuff over, including those cigarettes. But no matter how grateful he is to know that such precious cargo is now no longer going to fall victim to a worn-out bag strap, some of the contents make his lip curl. The Browning that 10k keeps as a contingency has been heavy enough on his soul, but now he has another weight to add to it. One that draws a bitterness up his throat.</p>
<p>That pistol he’d been gifted at the gun show.</p>
<p>His relationship with Ten can never go back to what it was before, can it? What Murphy had done; what he’d seen 10k do. This knowledge that something is different; this feeling that something might even be missing. And that’s what urges the shard of fear piercing his chest to burrow in ever deeper.</p>
<p>The door of the store gently thudding closed behind them, the two men walk swiftly down the street as they head back to their dehydrated companions. As they turn the final corner that brings them into view, 10k comes to a halt. Then, another soft smile teasing at pink lips, the young man faces Murphy.</p>
<p>“It’s not just Doc.”</p>
<p>That sweet smile isn’t returned, the man instead frowning down at Ten. “What are you talking about?”</p>
<p>“Those good people. The ones that help. I... I know they exist.”</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah?”</p>
<p>
  <em>I swear to whatever deities could care enough to listen, if he’s talking about that fuckin’ Ranger…</em>
</p>
<p>“You volunteered for that experiment. For the cure.” And as Ten’s smile grows honeyed and bright, a light begins to shine in those grey eyes. A light that shows Murphy a glimmer of innocence that he thought long extinguished in the young man before him. “That means you’re one of them, too.”</p>
<p>As he trails behind 10k, his strides encumbered by thought, he feels a prickling in the back of his mind. It’s not one that draws him towards the young man, rather one that turns his attention back down the way they’d came. And he sees zombies. Lots of them.</p>
<p>And when 10k turns too, spotting the looming threat and hastening his footsteps to drag Cassandra up from the road before urging Warren and Doc to their feet, Murphy feels it again. That shard of fear stabs deeper, finally piecing his heart.</p>
<p>It’s the zombies that scare him, a flavour of dread that he’d thought he’d never again feel. But it’s not for himself.</p>
<p>No, he feels it for 10k.</p>
<p>Because 10k can still turn.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s this strange spark in a Z’s eyes.</p>
<p>It’s faint and buried down deep under hunger and hatred and rage, but it’s there. He can see it.</p>
<p>That foggy glimmer certainly isn’t anything human, Murphy knows that much, but no matter what it may actually be its existence is evidence enough that zombies aren’t as dead as people think. Whatever this virus or plague or affliction does to the human brain, it doesn’t kill it. Not all of it, anyway, instead warping whatever thoughts they previously had that made them a unique being until they became… this. Became something else.</p>
<p>He’d never seen this part of them before. Probably because he’d never been close long enough to notice. Why would he have been? Between their tendency to get a bit bitey and Ten’s efficiency at taking them out at range, Murphy’s never had much of an inclination to get to know one better. But standing here in this chilly morgue, Warren hiding in a body bag and the others stuffed into drawers, he takes the time to really <em>look</em>.</p>
<p>And he finally understands.</p>
<p>He understands why 10k had stared for hours into a zombie’s eyes, desperately searching for any trace of his father that may remain, and why the very memory of what he’d seen deep in those glazed depths still haunts him.</p>
<p>He understands the pained cry that had choked Warren as Garnett’s reanimated corpse had shambled to it’s feet, and how relief had led her body to sag against the truck as what remained of her dead lover had been granted mercy before it had stumbled more than a handful of steps.</p>
<p>Not only had they both seen the very ones that they care for the most die, but they were then forced to watch them turn; watch them change into a twisted mockery of the person who had once filled their hearts and lives with so much warmth.</p>
<p>Murphy won’t allow himself to witness that.</p>
<p>Not with 10k.</p>
<p>He’s close with the young man. Close enough to share. Close enough that the others no longer even bat an eye. Bites of each other’s food; cigarettes passed back and forth; a brushed steel bottle that only they drink from. And he hadn’t known. There is no reasonable way for Murphy to have realised that such simple and caring actions could have contaminated Ten.</p>
<p>Contaminated him with his saliva.</p>
<p>To think he’d never have found out what it can do if that man at the gun show hadn’t gotten himself killed. The man Murphy had bitten. The man who didn’t turn.</p>
<p>The soft chorus of zombie groans is more than adequate to drown out his footsteps as he picks his way across the morgue. His hand lifts, a slight tremor in his fingers. Because this is it. This is his last chance to turn away. To take a different path. Whatever damage he may already have inflicted cannot be undone, but at least he could plead his ignorance. This, though? This is intentional; this is something deliberate that he can never take back.</p>
<p>And he’s going to do it. He’s going to take this chance. Because he has to make sure.</p>
<p>With a click so muted that it barely meets even his own ears, Murphy pries open the door to 10k’s morgue drawer, lifting a finger to his lips as panicked grey eyes meet his own. He crowds in close, doing his best to block the young man from the view of the hungering undead. Then, never once breaking eye contact, he inches the slab out. Just a little; just enough. The hand drops from his lips to slide into black hair, nails scraping soothingly along 10k’s scalp, relaxing him for what’s to come. Then, as panic fades from pale grey and confusion takes its place, he makes his move.</p>
<p>Murphy leans down, pressing his lips to Ten’s.</p>
<p>The young man tenses, his surprised squeak smothered between them. Not that his shock lasts long, Ten quickly recovering before attempting to take control. Of course, he does: he wouldn’t be Murphy’s Princess if something so simple could throw him off kilter for more than a few heartbeats. One gloved hand grips onto the man’s jacket, the other lifting further to graze slender fingers through short hair, a delighted purr rolling up 10k’s throat. As he’s abruptly dragged down - dragged <em>closer</em> – Murphy is more than happy to greedily lean into the warmth of the embrace to escape the morgue’s chill, and the young man laps at his lips.</p>
<p>With 10k seeking permission to deepen their kiss, Murphy finally allows himself to relax. To free himself from the shard of fear piercing his heart. To feel relief instead.</p>
<p>Because his Princess took the bait.</p>
<p>Allowing the smile that twitches at his lips, he cups Ten’s face, rough thumbs caressing his cheeks. Just because the moment isn’t what this beguiling young man believes it to be doesn’t mean that Murphy can’t let himself enjoy it, too.</p>
<p>After all, he’s confident that 10k is loving this kiss more than he would a bite.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Finding supplies is easier work than Murphy had thought.</p>
<p>Last time, the streets had been clear of both the living and the undead. The pace had been almost leisurely, 10k doing most of the hands-on stuff. Picking locks; sweeping rooms; rummaging through cupboards. Murphy himself had been afforded the pleasure of simply standing back and enjoying the view.</p>
<p>And this time? Well, the horde of Zs had forced any of the living into hiding, their fear of the undead leading them to be able to do nothing but cower. As he himself no longer has any reason to fear such things, moving around had been simple enough. The Zs barely react to his presence, almost as if they see him as one of their own. They’re wrong but he’s not going to tell them that: their incorrect assumption brings with it certain privileges that he’s determined to take advantage of. Hell, he’d be a fool not to!</p>
<p>As for humans–</p>
<p>“What are you?”</p>
<p>He turns to the woman, a snarl warping his tingling lips as a low growl rolls up his throat. She scuttles back to her corner, covering her child.</p>
<p>As for humans, they’re more intelligent than the Zs, some more so than others. They can often tell with a glance he’s not one of them, though what exactly he may be, they cannot begin to fathom. Not that Murphy can fault them on that: he’s not so sure himself. Still, this ambiguity also comes with its own set of advantages, such as a mere look causing them to back away, especially if they’re as timid as these ones.</p>
<p>And that’s why scavenging for supplies isn’t as hard as he thought. He’d stumbled upon a literal goldmine without even breaking a sweat or picking a lock. Tins of meat and vegetables; packets of chips in a variety of flavours; boxes of snack cakes and desserts, all fresher than the Oreo still tucked away in his pocket. This new bag of Murphy’s is practically overflowing and there is still more he’s yet to grab! But best of all? Casually resting upon the table is the most valuable resource this tiny town has to offer. Water. And there are two bottles of it.</p>
<p>“Leave some water for my girl.”</p>
<p>The amount of self-restraint it takes to not roll his eyes at her is more than Murphy had been aware he possessed. Because really? She’s <em>asking</em> <em>nicely</em>? Isn’t she aware that they’re in the middle of a damn Apocalypse?! If she was actually serious about her daughter’s survival, she’d be willing to fight! It’s not Murphy’s fault she doesn’t care enough to lift a finger and help the girl herself. And this is only some food and water – Murphy has done much worse than pocketing a few snacks and a bottle, and that was <em>before</em> the Apocalypse. Now, though, he’s someone more important than this cowering human could ever comprehend. His life is worth many times that of a random woman and child who fail to understand the meaning of ‘survival of the fittest’. These supplies will do a lot more good by keeping him and his escort alive.</p>
<p>Those bleeding hearts wouldn’t see it that way, though, would they? Warren isn’t the type to sacrifice something for the ‘greater good’. Sacrificing was Garnett’s schtick, and look where it landed him. But it’s not like they’ll ever know the true cost of their meal; the price he had deemed a reasonable enough exchange for their continued existence.</p>
<p>No, <em>they’ll</em> never know.</p>
<p>But <em>Murphy</em> will.</p>
<p>Rough fingers trace along his still tingling lips. It’s almost as if his body is refusing to forget that kiss. Or maybe it’s his conscience deciding to wake up from its decades long slumber.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Those good people. The ones that help.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>That beautiful spark of innocence illuminating pale grey. The one he couldn’t stomach to ever see extinguished.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>You’re one of them, too.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>If 10k ever found out about this…</em>
</p>
<p>Well, his bag <em>is</em> already full – no sense in squashing all this food down in an attempt fit more in. And as for the water, two bottles would be a hassle to carry and he’s already put more effort into all this scavenging than he should have. His escort will have to make do with only one bottle of water. If they complain, then he knows not to bother them with his benevolence again.</p>
<p>Slinging his bag onto his back, he grabs the fuller of the two bottles and heads for the door.</p>
<p>“Thank you. Thank you…”</p>
<p>This time Murphy doesn’t even try to hold back his eye roll. Because, seriously, him leaving some water is rooted in as much selfishness as taking both bottles would have been. This option is just a longer con, is all. He wouldn’t have been as successful pre-Z if he’d let a little impatience interfere with a well laid plan, and he knows well how sweet the taste of such delayed gratification can be.</p>
<p>“If you see a man in a red jacket–”</p>
<p>He’s already helped this woman enough, and now she dares to ask for more?! The gall of some people! He spins on his heel, tongue barbed and ready, but then he looks at her. Looks at the little girl. There is fear in her eyes, sure, but there’s also a glimmer of hope. Hope that she’s too innocent to realise the futility of.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, for fuck’s sake…</em>
</p>
<p>He meets the woman’s eyes for first and last time. “If he doesn’t come back, consider him dead and keep moving. You’ve got more than him to worry about.”</p>
<p>And with that, he leaves.</p>
<p>After weaving back down the hallways and descending the stairs, Murphy finally escapes back into the fresh, open air. The street is almost empty now, only a few undead stragglers left wandering through the town. And here, right by the door as if the universe decided today of all days to get a sense of humour, is a fucking Z in a red jacket!</p>
<p>It has to be him. This Z must be what remains of the man that that demanding woman had been asking after. It’s staring passed Murphy into the hallway behind him, glazed over eyes seeming to be searching for something. It’s almost as if the Z had been drawn here, some part of the human surviving long enough to make this undead creature instinctively search out his beloved family one last time.</p>
<p>This door Murphy’s holding isn’t exactly hard to open – that’s plausible deniability, right? And the woman <em>had </em>been asking after this Z, after all. He’d be down the street and rounding the corner before the Z had finished shambling down the first hallway…</p>
<p>He steps out of the doorway, the Z’s cloudy eyes lifting to his own. And they’re hungry.</p>
<p>With a sigh, he lets go of the door, letting it slam shut.</p>
<p>“That’s not your family anymore.” Nudging at the Z’s shoulder in a spot that’s a little less blood-drenched than the rest, he coerces it into turning away from the building. Now facing what’s left of the horde that had stampeded through the town, he urges the Z forward. “That’s who you belong with now.”</p>
<p>Unsteady feet shuffle along the road, the Z soon catching up to it’s pack and being welcomed with open arms. Well, with a few absentminded grunts that are probably pure coincidence and a single arm wave that’s more than likely just a spasm of decaying flesh. But, fuck it. Murphy’s in a better mood than he has been all week, his own mission having been completed without a hitch. He’s allowed to be sentimental for once.</p>
<p>And anyway, he’s just done that woman a big favour. One she won’t ever know about. Because she’ll never have to look into that Z’s eyes. She’ll never see what’s there.</p>
<p>With his well-earned prize in one hand, Murphy starts to wander his way back to the morgue. He presses his other hand against the lump in his pocket. Against the Oreo. He’s been holding onto this for quite a while now, unsure when to use it. It’s not like he’s had a good enough opportunity to give this cookie to Ten, seeing as the Apocalypse has been shovelling load after load of shit at them since they left that motel. Between Garnett dying and 10k almost drifting too far away, there hasn’t been much for him to celebrate.</p>
<p>Until now, that is.</p>
<p>Sure, using attention and these little gifts as rewards to reinforce favourable behaviour <em>may</em> have been callous of him but, in his own defence, it <em>was</em> an idea from a time before he knew that Ten genuinely liked him. Giving the young man the Oreo because he <em>wants</em> to, however? There can’t be any harm in that. And he won’t even have to wait until they’re alone together again to do it – the cookie will blend right in with the sugary snacks he’s found, so he’ll be able to do it right under the others’ noses. They won’t have a clue.</p>
<p>Turning the last corner, Murphy hesitates as the morgue finally comes into sight, a twinkling of uncertainty bringing him to a halt. He’d done the right thing in there, hadn’t he? Kissing Ten…</p>
<p>Fishing the Oreo out of his pocket, Murphy stares down at it, hoping it will somehow assuage this doubt. It’s gotten a bit… squished. The cookie on one side has broken in half, the two pieces only held together thanks to the cream. It’s much staler than he’d realised, too, the once brittle cookie now soft and chewy. He has no idea why Ten likes these things so much, even fresh ones. They’re just two sad and bitter cookies arguing over some gritty icing. But, if it’s what his Princess wants, then it’ll be what his Princess gets.</p>
<p>Murphy slides his precious cargo back into his jacket pocket, not caring to bother fight back the smile that tugs warmly at tingling lips.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck, I’m getting as soft as this damn Oreo…</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, it finally happened. Their first kiss. Only took, what, 163k words? And in a morgue, too. Murphy sure knows how to woo a guy. Such a romantic...</p>
<p>I'd love to hear what you think! Every comment fills me with joy &lt;3</p>
<p>Next chapter might be soon, or might not be - this time of year can get pretty hectic.</p>
<p>Until next time. Take care, everyone!</p>
<p>&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Flashback, part 1/2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tommy grows up.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Minor content warning for injury, animal death, and internalised homophobia.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It happened.</p>
<p>It finally happened!</p>
<p>10k lays on his back, staring into the black nothingness inside the morgue drawer, fingers gently tracing along grinning lips. Because it finally happened: he and Murphy kissed! And he’d been right all those weeks ago, too. Murphy <em>was</em> the one to kiss him first…</p>
<p>The kid honestly thought that he’d fracked up. That getting caught scratching an itch with that Ranger would have put the handsome man off. That’s why he’d backed away a bit, at least with the whole flirting thing. Not that he would have been able to hold back too much longer: a man as arrogant as Murphy makes for such a tempting prey; the kind of temptation that 10k has never been able to resist for long.</p>
<p>While Murphy has never struck 10k as the romantic type, his timing had still taken him by surprise! A morgue full of Zs‽ Guess it just goes to show how much that man has changed. When they’d first met, Murphy’s beard had been full and thick, his skin clear and smooth-looking, and his heart filled with fear. Now he has long stubble at best and his skin is dry and sallow. Not that that matters too much: the newfound confidence – <em>arrogance</em>! – that comes from Zs not noticing him more than makes up for it.</p>
<p>Still, the kiss <em>had</em> taken 10k by surprise, something that hadn’t happened in… well, years. And that’s not the only thing about it that keeps this grin plastered to his face. It hadn’t just been the Zs milling about so closely that had made his heart race. Between the warmth of the man leaning over him and the icy chill of the air in the morgue, the kiss had tasted almost bittersweet. Had tasted like a memory of snow and ice from a place far away and a long time ago…</p>
<p>And he wants another.</p>
<p>
  <em>Would Murphy like stargazing…?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>~*~*~</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So, with the Minotaur now dead, Theseus had to keep his promise and take Princess Ariadne away from her life stuck with her cruel father. But Theseus grew bored of her and decided to leave her all alone on an island!”</p>
<p>Tommy gasps, his eyes wide in shock as he stares up at his pa from under his pile of blankets. “What did the princess do?”</p>
<p>Pa smiles down at him, amused. “Well, she lived on the island sad and alone until one day a handsome man appeared. He’d been kidnapped by pirates and ended up on the island, too. Finding the princess crying, he listened to her sad tale and decided that he’ll help her escape from the island and rescue her from her life of suffering. What Princess Ariadne didn’t know was that this man was special!”</p>
<p>“Special? Is he a Hero?”</p>
<p>“Better than a Hero, Tommy. This mas was a God!”</p>
<p>“Wow…”</p>
<p>“Yeah, wow, because this man was actually Dionysus, the God of wine and comedy, but also of madness. As they spent more time together, Dionysus was taken by the princess’s beauty and he fell in love. Once they had escaped the island and she was safe and happy at his side, he asked her to marry him.” Pa pauses, drawing out the suspense. “And she says yes!”</p>
<p>With a delighted giggle, Tommy wiggles over closer to Pa, hugging up to him as they stare up at the stars. “What was the wedding like? Was the princess pretty?”</p>
<p>“Oh, she was <em>very</em> pretty! See, Dionysus liked the finer things in life so just any old boring wedding wouldn’t do for his beloved princess. He gathered jewels from all over the world, picked out the seven most beautiful, and them set into a crown for her to wear. Once they were wed, Dionysus took the crown from her head before they… erm, when he <em>hugged</em> her, and then threw it into the sky, where the seven jewels became the seven stars of Corona Borealis.”</p>
<p>Pa lifts his hand to the sky, Tommy leaning in and peering along his arm as the man traces out the constellation.</p>
<p>“These stars will always be here to mark their wedding day. The day when sad and lonely Princess Ariadne had finally found happiness living at her husband’s side as the Goddess of snakes and plants and passion.”</p>
<p>Tommy gazes up at the stars, their twinkling lights shining bright in his pale eyes. “Hope I get rescued. Then I’ll get a hug, too!”</p>
<p>Pa’s laugh is low and light, a deep rumbling in his chest. “It’s supposed to be the other way around, son.”</p>
<p>“But… Why would a Hero or God need me to rescue them?”</p>
<p>“A princess, Tommy. It’s supposed to be <em>you</em> rescuing a <em>princess</em>.”</p>
<p>Tommy frowns, stubbornly crossing his arms in front of his chest. “But Pa, <em>I</em> want to be the princess…”</p>
<p>Now it’s Pa’s turn to frown, thick brows furrowing as he stares down at his son. Then, with a sigh the man climbs to his feet. “Tell you what, son. If you want to be the princess, you can be the princess.”</p>
<p>“Really‽”</p>
<p>“Yup, and you can hug whoever you want.”</p>
<p>“I can‽”</p>
<p>“Uh-huh. But only when you’re older. Cuz right now–” Pa stoops low, bundling Tommy up tight in his blankets and pulling him into strong arms. “–it’s time for bed.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He turns the pale knife over in his hands, tracing the smoothly carved handle in awe. It’s one that Pa had made himself; made especially for Tommy. The blade itself has been carved from an elk’s thigh bone, and the wooden handle from Douglas fir. It’s all held together by tendons taken from same elk as the bone that had been wrapped around while wet and left to tighten as they dry.</p>
<p>“It’s beautiful…”</p>
<p>“Glad you like it, son.”</p>
<p>Today is Tommy’s sixth birthday. That means he’s no longer a little boy. The knife that Pa has given him is proof of that. The pair of dead hares laying between them is another. Their fur is a soft white mottled with brown; their hind feet large… Snowshoe hare.</p>
<p>“<em>Lepus…</em> erm…” Pa’s been teaching Tommy about animals, but he finds it so hard to remember the names. He’s never gonna get it…</p>
<p>“<em>Lepus americanus.</em> And today you’re gonna learn how to dress one down. No better way to break in a new knife.” Pa’s smile is soft as a large, rough hand reaches out to tousle Tommy’s hair. “You’re not so little anymore, son. Time you learned how to use one properly. Need to know how to be safe with a knife, now that you’ll always have one on you.” His voice drops, the gentleness ushered out and replaced by a firmness that makes Tommy sit up straight. “A knife isn’t a weapon, son. A tool, yes, but never a weapon. Do you understand?”</p>
<p>Tommy stares down at the knife in hand: the blade of carved bone is a murky white; the dark wooden handle smooth and soft; the dried tendons pale and rough. This is a tool that can cut through skin and muscle as easily as twine and rope. It’s now his responsibility to make sure it never causes harm. This tool has more weight than his hands can notice. And Tommy knows he’s ready to carry it.</p>
<p>When the boy nods, his father smiles once more.</p>
<p>Grabbing one of the hares, Pa unsheathes his own knife. “Right. First, you remove the feet…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hot.</p>
<p>It’s so hot.</p>
<p>Tommy’s blankets have been thrown off by his flailing, his hair wet through with sweat and sticking to his forehead. Muscles ache; joints burn; tingling fingers twitch.</p>
<p>“It’s just a fever, Jacque. He gets them all the time.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but never one this high. Harry, he needs a doctor.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Tommy’s running. The soil is cool and damp between his toes; the branches barely sting as they whip against his overheated flesh.</em>
</p>
<p>“No! No doctors. I know what to do. He’ll be fine.”</p>
<p>“God damn it, Harry! The boy is sick!”</p>
<p>
  <em>The deer runs, too. It’s fast. But Tommy is faster. Its fur is soft under his hands as his finger’s grip tight. Its desperate cries are shrill to his ears as it realises there is no escape.</em>
</p>
<p>“He’s my boy, Jacque! Mine! Not yours. I know what’s best for him.”</p>
<p> “He’s Chelsea’s boy, too. What would she think if she were still here? If she knew your stubbornness would kill him?”</p>
<p>
  <em>The deer collapses to the ground, panting, panting, panting. Its blood is hot and metallic and sweet as his tingling teeth sink in–</em>
</p>
<p>“Pa!”</p>
<p>The word scratches out of the boy’s dry throat, bringing his father running to his side. Rough hands brush the wet hair from his face, cool lips pressing a gentle kiss to his flushed forehead.</p>
<p>“I’m right here, Tommy. Pa’s right here.”</p>
<p>Then a cloth, damp and cold, mops at his burning skin.</p>
<p>“Go back to sleep. You’ll feel better by morning. I promise.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy stares in awe.</p>
<p>It had only taken a single shot for Pa to bring the deer down. He hopes that when he’s old enough to fire something other than his slingshot that he’ll be as good as Pa.</p>
<p>The hide is blemished, one flank discoloured with scar tissue, and dressing down the animal had only revealed more damage. The muscle beneath the healed wounds is tough, the ribs overgrown and calcified. Pa had sworn when he’d pried out an arrowhead, using words that Tommy had only heard from Uncle Jacque.</p>
<p>“And this, son, is why we use a rifle, not a goddamn bow and arrow! Only a bad hunter would let a wounded animal escape. Motherfucking townies!”</p>
<p>It’s bad for the animal to have suffered, but it’s also bad for them. They’ve been tracking deer and elk for their pelts to sell in town. Tommy runs his fingers over the scars, the gnarled skin rough under his fingers. Their tracking has been a waste of time. No one would want to buy this! It’s so… “So ugly…”</p>
<p>“No, it’s not.” He looks over at Pa, the man frowning at him over the carcass they’re butchering. “These scars aren’t ugly, they’re beautiful. This animal should have died, but it’s desire to keep living was too strong…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Pa pulls a tin out of one of the paper bags, it’s label missing. Lifting it to his ear, he gives it a quick shake, smile tugging at his lips. “Beef stew.”</p>
<p>“Man, how the fu– er, <em>frack</em> do you do that? Darn freaky…”</p>
<p>“If you don’t wanna eat the same thing four nights on the trot, you learn quickly.”</p>
<p>“Seriously… You and your x-ray ears…”</p>
<p>“It’s because I have taste, Jacque. Ravioli gets boring after a week of it.”</p>
<p>“Like you would know good food when you see it. Don’t even put pineapple on your pizza.”</p>
<p>“As I said. I have taste.”</p>
<p>Not wanting to sit around idle and risk getting dragged into Uncle Jacque’s antics, Tommy grabs one of the paper bags. Lugging it over to the shelves, he reaches in to start sorting it away. Only his fingers don’t reach the metal tins, instead brushing along glossy paper. Curious, he grabs it, tugging it out.</p>
<p>It’s a magazine. One with a lady on the front. She’s sitting on a chair, her hair styled all pretty, and wearing some very small shorts and a tiny shirt. Why would she be wearing clothes that small? Wouldn’t she get cold?</p>
<p>“Oops. Looks like kiddo here grabbed the wrong bag.”</p>
<p>At Uncle Jacque’s words, Pa’s head snaps up. Trying to keep his face calm, the man quickly walks over and gently pries the magazine from Tommy’s hands before tucking it back into the bag. “You’re a little young for that. Not your time yet. But, uh… Maybe when you’re older.”</p>
<p>“Oh, come on, Harry. We both know a magazine like <em>that</em> isn’t likely to interest him–”</p>
<p>“Jacque! Enough.”</p>
<p>“What? You know we’re both thinking it.”</p>
<p>“I said enough!”</p>
<p>Uncle Jacque just rolls his eyes, making Pa even angrier.</p>
<p>Not wanting to listen to them shout, Tommy grabs a bag of medical supplies and heads to the other room to sort them out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The paper target is stuck to a tree trunk, it’s black and white a stark contrast to the browns and greens that surround it. Their table is set up outside, facing the target, Pa’s rifle resting on top. Tommy has proven that he’s responsible: he’s gotten proficient with his knives and his slingshot with no accidents or mess ups. Now, Pa has decided it’s time to learn how to use a rifle.</p>
<p>“Only aim at something that you’re sure you want dead. Can’t take a bullet back.”</p>
<p>Tommy nods, serious. This is it. This is the moment he’s been waiting for since he got handed his first slingshot. He kneels by the rifle, hands itching to trace along it. But they don’t. He knows he needs to wait. To be patient.</p>
<p>“You should only place your finger on the trigger when you’re ready to shoot. Before that, take your time. Look at your surroundings. Know what’s behind your target. Just because you miss, doesn’t mean the bullet stops. And if you hit, it could pass right through. Anything that’s behind can and will be completely obliterated, too. Your finger shouldn’t go anywhere near that trigger unless you’re okay with that.”</p>
<p>At Pa’s nod, Tommy lifts his hands. Touches the rifle. Gets into the position he’s his pa take more times than the boy has been able to count. And it’s heavy in his hands, both the weight of the cool metal and what this tool is capable of.</p>
<p>As Tommy leans down to peer through the scope, Pa leans too. Placing some of his weight on his son’s back, Pa prepares to take the recoil.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The rifle on his back feels as much a part of him as his knives, his slingshot, and even his hands. Whenever he’s away from camp without it, he straight up feels naked. But, since he’s proven to Pa that he’s responsible and treats the tool with the respect it deserves, he’s been allowed to wander further and further, with only his tools and wits at his back.</p>
<p>He’s spent his summer days wandering far and wide, desperate to avoid lingering at camp when Pa is in a ‘teacher’ mood. He’s been making Tommy memorise some books on plants and fungi, which means reading. And he <em>hates</em> reading. All those letters never seem to sit still… He’d much rather be out in the wilds, learning by studying the flora and fauna he encounters on his long walks. Many of the plants are useful, both as food and as medicine, but just as many are deadly. From the delicate petals to the whorls of green leaves, and even down to their spidery network of roots, a single taste of many of the plants he sees each and every day is enough to kill a man.</p>
<p>And that just makes them even more beautiful.</p>
<p>While his wandering can take up his whole day, he always makes sure to get back to camp before nightfall. That’s one of Pa’s rules, some of the others being to avoid people and to always have his knife and rifle. They’re not the only things hunting in these woods.</p>
<p>On one of his earlier wanderings, Tommy had found a small creek. Bright greens and browns from the grass and trees, with small explosions of colour daubed along the bank. Crystal clear waters bubbling away, cool to touch and crisp to taste. It’s his own little piece of heaven, and perfect for fishing. But when he’d arrived today, something was different. Some kids, probably from the nearby town, have intruded into his paradise.</p>
<p>It’s a mixed group, as many boys as there are girls, and all a few years older. He’d come back to fish here again but, with them crowding around his favourite spot, Tommy is out of luck. The girls are laying on the bank, most of their clothing stripped away to better soak up the summer sun. The boys have also stripped off some of their clothing, though they’ve done so for a much more fascinating purpose. They’re swimming in the cool, clear waters of the creek, laughing and shouting and splashing each other.</p>
<p>And as Tommy watches he can’t help but to notice that it’s not the girls that hold his attention. Sure, the girls are pretty, but there’s something about the boys. The way they laugh; the way they shout; the way they wear wide grins while dunking each other under…</p>
<p>Tommy can’t help but think that they’re much more beautiful.</p>
<p>But… why? Shouldn’t it be the girls that his eyes keep getting drawn to? Pa likes looking at ladies, as does Uncle Jacque. In all of Pa’s stories, the ones of Gods and Heroes and Monsters, the Hero always falls in love with the Princess. And the Princess is always a girl.</p>
<p>So, Tommy wanting to watch the boys instead isn’t… Isn’t normal, right?</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No fish today?”</p>
<p>Tommy stops in his tracks, heartrate picking up until it feels like it’s about to punch its way out of his chest. Daring to meet his pa’s eye, the kid shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Not biting?”</p>
<p>He can’t lie to Pa. He just can’t. So, he tilts his head, licks nervously at his lip, and attempts to steel his nerve enough to tell the truth. “Some kids from town. Boys and girls. They were swimming in the creek. Couldn’t fish. Just… watched.”</p>
<p>And Pa looks at him – <em>studies</em> him – that fatherly expression sliding its way onto his face. The one that means he’s about to pass on some wisdom or teach a lesson or… Or tell Tommy he’s done something wrong…</p>
<p>“You did well not to approach them. Can’t have anyone in town know we’re living here. If you see them there again, leave immediately.” A hand comes up, Pa rubbing along his own jaw, considering. “Anyway, the girls wouldn’t be happy if they knew you’d been watching them swim.”</p>
<p>Tommy’s mouth drops open. He wouldn’t spy on girls like that! It’s rude! Why would Pa think that he’d do that? “Wasn’t looking at the girls!”</p>
<p>“Then what <em>were</em> you looking at?”</p>
<p>His mouth snaps shuts, jaw clenching tightly. His stomach tightens, too, a sea of molten lead churning and burning away. His hands ball up into fists, a tingle running through his fingers; in his side; up his spine. The more his panic builds, the more it twists and turns into anger, saturating his mind, his thoughts all greasy and slick. And he panics a lot because even Pa thinks that it’s normal for him to want to look at the girls and not the boys. Never at the boys.</p>
<p>A snarl distorting his face, Tommy’s words are clipped and short. “Got annoyed. Wanted to fish. Couldn’t.”</p>
<p>And Pa, his loving Pa, the man who has always been there for him; has always said that he would listen to anything that Tommy had to say; has always done whatever it took to keep his son safe…</p>
<p>He turns away, disappointed.</p>
<p>“Well, we never needed any damn fish, anyway. Got some dried meats left over somewhere…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stop crying. You’re a man, now, Tommy, and men don’t cry.”</p>
<p>Tommy chokes back another sob, hands pressing desperately onto his hip and thigh, trying to keep enough pressure on the wounds to stave off the bleeding. Uncle Jacque’s arms tighten around his small, trembling body, the man’s hastening steps jarring the kid’s leg, making the pain flare up even more; making the tears welling up in his eyes even thicker. Tears he’s been told not to let spill.</p>
<p>But it hurts.</p>
<p>It hurts.</p>
<p>It hurts so… So <em>fucking</em> much!</p>
<p>He’d been out hunting with his uncle, showing the man around the terrain and helping him track and shoot birds. And then it had happened. Tommy had been peering through a bush, checking for any signs of life on the other side, when his uncle’s gun had gone off.</p>
<p>It had only been birdshot, and a glancing blow at that, but enough of the small metal pellets had eaten their way into the meat of his hip and thigh for him to cry out in shock. And once that initial disbelief had worn off; once realisation had begun to sink in… That’s when the red blossoming down his pant leg had brought with it this burning, searing, all-consuming <em>pain</em>.</p>
<p>As his uncle stumbles into camp, calling out for his pa, he lowers Tommy down to place him on the grass. And all the kid can do is stare through pained and panicked eyes as some red seeps through his fingers and drips onto green.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong? Oh my god, Tommy! Jacque, what the <em>fuck</em> happened‽”</p>
<p>“It’s alright, Harry, calm down. Just a graze, honest. It looks much worse than it is.”</p>
<p>Pa’s face comes into view, more panicked and fearful than Tommy has ever seen him. After brushing the hair back from the kid’s forehead, Pa turns his attention to the wound, gently prying shaking hands away to better inspect the damage.</p>
<p>“Jacque, get the med kit.”</p>
<p>“No need. There’s a clinic nearby. Won’t take long in my truck. I’ll take Tommy, get him treated, and have him back before nightfall.”</p>
<p>Pa turns to Uncle Jacque, anger making his words scorch. “No. I can take care of this myself.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be an idiot, man! He needs a real doctor. And these ones? I know them. They won’t ask questions. Don’t even have to know you’re here.”</p>
<p>“I said no! I’m never letting one of those <em>bastards</em> get anywhere near my boy!”</p>
<p>“Why are you always so fucking stubborn‽”</p>
<p>“You know why!” Pa lurches to his feet, bloody hands shooting out and shoving Uncle Jacque once, twice. “Get out of here! And don’t fucking come back!”</p>
<p>As a truck door slams shut, Pa returns to Tommy’s side. He brushes fingers through his son’s dark hair, a sadness dulling his eyes. “Sorry you had to hear that, son.” Leaning down, Pa presses a single gentle kiss to a pale and sweaty forehead. “It’s okay, Tommy. If you need to cry, then cry. This is gonna hurt, but it’s gotta be done. It’s okay to let it out.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>This year’s winter had been harsher than expected.</p>
<p>The layout of the terrain hadn’t changed, their winter camp tucked away in a nook that should have been sheltered from the worst of the elements, even this far up into the mountains. And their supplies are the same as ever, the usual amount of wood prepped for burning in their stove.</p>
<p>But it had been colder. Much colder. And their wood had begun to run out. As soon as enough of spring had arrived for the mountain pass to be safely traversed, they’d packed up their camp, loaded everything that they couldn’t easily replace into the truck, and started their descent.</p>
<p>Usually the towns that they passed through were thoroughly vetted first, but this year they didn’t have any better options. As soon as they’d moved far enough away from the last camp to be on completely new territory, Pa had chosen a small nearby town almost at random and made a beeline right for it.</p>
<p>That’s what brings Tommy to this parking lot, bundled up in his thick winter coat as he stretches his legs after the long drive. He hasn’t wandered far from the truck as his rifle is still tucked away out of sight under the back seats. No rifles in the towns, Pa insists. Knives, yes; rifles, no. They risk bringing unwanted attention. So, no, he doesn’t wander too far from the truck because he doesn’t have his rifle. He feels naked without it.</p>
<p>Their truck is parked in the lot of a small bar, one with a simple sign baring a name he doesn’t care enough to read, a carved bear statue proudly defending the door. And that’s where Pa had disappeared to. Not to drink, of course: he rarely drinks without Uncle Jacque around. Instead, he’d entered the bar to see if he could use their phone. They don’t normally move until late spring or early summer, so Pa has to let Uncle Jacque know that plans had changed, and to let the man know where they’ve ended up.</p>
<p>They might argue and disagree about many things, but Pa and Uncle Jacque always find a way to patch everything up. They have a lot in common, after all, the two most obvious being Tommy and the mother he’d been too young to remember. Another thing that always seems to work in Uncle Jacque’s favour is how he’s their connection to the outside world.</p>
<p>The outside world. The real world. A world Tommy has never been a part of and world he knows nothing about. A world he so desperately desires to explore.</p>
<p>But he also knows that Pa has his reasons for hiding them both away. A reason Tommy knows little about, other than that the Government were responsible for his mother’s death, and that Pa fears that same Government is now after his son, too.</p>
<p>This town is hardly remarkable, looking like any other place laying low between the mountains and the forests of whatever part of the country they always seem to wander back to. Pacing along the perimeter, Tommy has seen all he needs to know that this town will hold little interest for him, his curiosity remaining firmly fixated on the surrounding flora and fauna once the glorious sights of summer begin to shine. There’s a hunting store next to the bar, once more proving that most people are stupid enough to combine guns with alcohol. A little bit further around is a grocery store, a place he’s sure he’ll soon become intimately familiar with, what with Pa usually saddling him with food replenishment duty. Not that Tommy minds all that much. If he squirrels away a handful of change here and there, he’s able to afford an occasional packet of Oreos to stealthily eat as he waits for Pa’s return.</p>
<p>Passed the grocery store is another little parking lot, this one for a fast food restaurant. It’s not too full and the restaurant isn’t too busy, so Tommy doesn’t feel too nervous to slink closer for a better look. Do they sell fries? He’s never tried them, but they always smell so good. Maybe if this restaurant is ever quieter, he could try getting some fries instead of Oreos, sometime…</p>
<p>Now closer, his eyes slide along the glass, trying to appear casual as he peers through. There’s a counter with a queue of customers, all ages and sizes. An older man counting out his pennies for a bored looking cashier, a young woman wrangling a small menagerie of children, and even a group of teens around his own age. These teens scoop up their trays before skulking across the restaurant floor and parking themselves into a booth. As their trays are dropped onto the white plastic tables, Tommy takes a moment to inspect their purchase. There are burgers wrapped in paper, large cups of soda and milkshakes, and a mound of fries that’s large enough to make his heart sing!</p>
<p>He inches closer to the window, desperate to watch. To learn. How are fries eaten? Do you just pick them up and munch them down, or is there a certain way to do it? A way they’re supposed to be held, or a sauce they’re supposed to be dunked in. He’ll need to know all this if he’s ever to eat some. If he does it wrong, anyone watching will know he’s not normal.</p>
<p>And him not being normal is something that Tommy can never let anyone know.</p>
<p>One of the teens, a boy wearing a charcoal grey jacket, snatches up a fry after prying the lid off his chocolate shake. Tommy watches in awe as the fry is expertly dunked into the drink before shoved into the teens mouth, fingers quickly cleaned off.</p>
<p>
  <em>So that’s how it’s done…</em>
</p>
<p>As he watches the boy eat more and more, Tommy slowly creeps closer to the window, unable to look away. He knows why but… But he doesn’t want to think about it.</p>
<p>The boy’s charcoal jacket is covered in patches and pins, all haphazardly sewn and pinned into place with little thought appearing to be given to their position. It’s a chaotic mess, but not as much so as his hair. A dark mop of curls sits atop his head, the sides shorn down shorter, exposed ears adorned with a cluster of silver loops. His lips are twisted into a smirk that almost takes Tommy’s breath away. His nose is proud and pointed and likely been broken more than once. And above it is a pair of expressive eyes in the warmest shade of brown that Tommy has ever seen.</p>
<p>A pair of eyes that are locked onto his own.</p>
<p>He’s been caught staring. <em>Fuck</em>! He’s been caught staring at another boy! What should he do? Could the boy know why he’d been staring? Can he read it on his face?</p>
<p>No one can know. No one can <em>ever</em> know!</p>
<p>Does the boy know?</p>
<p>Tommy knows that he should look away. That he should leave. That he should walk back to the truck and not look back.</p>
<p>Never look back.</p>
<p>Especially not back at this beautiful boy that makes his heart beat fast and his head feel light and his stomach clench and twirl and sway.</p>
<p>But he can’t. He can’t look away, his cold and grey eyes frozen in place as they gaze into a shade of brown more beguiling than he’d even knew could existe.</p>
<p>So, instead, he does the only thing that he can do. He smiles. He knows it’s weird and he knows it’s lopsided and he <em>knows</em> it’s awkward but it’s the only <em>fucking</em> thing he can do!</p>
<p>And then… it’s returned.</p>
<p>The boy’s lip curls up, a smirk melting away the shock from noticing Tommy staring from the street outside. The smirk is crooked and arrogant and the most beautiful thing that he’s ever seen.</p>
<p>As the smirk grows wider – <em>harsher</em> – the boy lifts up one hand.</p>
<p>And raises the middle finger.</p>
<p>“Tommy! Time to go!”</p>
<p>With Pa’s shout, the spell is broken, the kid finally able to tear his eyes away. Doing everything in his power to slow the beating of his heart, Tommy tries his best to not trip over his feet as he scuttles across the snowy parking lot. It’s only once he’s a few steps from the truck that finds the courage to look back at the restaurant. To gaze one last time through its windows. And that’s when he realises it.</p>
<p>His hasty retreat had been watched over by eyes of warmest brown.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Stay tuned for:<br/>Flashback, part 2/2: Tommy falls in love.</p>
<p>I have somehow whittled a metric fuckload of backstory into two short(ish) chapters. These badbois are so dense with information, it is UNREAL! All I can do is hope that they flow smoothly enough to be considered "story"!</p>
<p>Anyway, couldn't sleep so got up and did some editing, meaning you're getting this Christmas morning instead of Christmas night.</p>
<p>The next chapter is almost done, but some IRL writing is about to get a deadline and thus takes priority.</p>
<p>Anyway, hope that you enjoy and let me know what you think! Hope that you have a wonderful end of the year!</p>
<p>&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Flashback, part 2/3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Tommy falls in love.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*laughs in unable to stick to a chapter count*</p><p>But seriously, the intended chapter just hit 12k words. Gonna split it into two, half now, half on Friday or Saturday.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Spring had sprung with all its usual majesty. Snows had melted, flowers had bloomed, and Tommy had been able to get out of that damn tent!</p><p>He loves his Pa – that man means the world to him! – but as they had moved during the tail end of winter, they no longer had a cabin. To stave off the cold, they had had to rely on their tent and a stove. And that tent only has one room…</p><p>It’s been sixty-eight days since they got here. <em>Sixty-eight days!</em> Tommy would know. He counted every single one of them!</p><p>The kid doesn’t do well when he’s cooped up, unable to stretch his legs and wander the wilderness. Having his pa always at his side, breathing down his neck, and making him read those fracking guidebooks. If the weather didn’t improve, Tommy was fully willing and able to mount an expedition through the driving snows to find a sheltered area and build a bivouac. It hadn’t come to that, thank goodness, but it had gotten close. <em>Real</em> close.</p><p>Now, with the forest awoken from its slumber, the world around them having come alive once more, they can finally build their new home. With how many times they’ve built them together, the small cabin they’re working on is almost complete. The main room, that is. Over the summer they’ll add a secondary room and, space be willing, a third or even a fourth. Their tent will then only be used for storage or when Tommy needs time alone and the elements prevent him from leaving camp.</p><p>But with the building also came a need for supplies. And supplies mean a trip into the nearby town.</p><p>Tommy had been right in assuming that he’d get to know the grocery store well. Pa had indeed given him a short list of food items to purchase on their every visit. Not that he’s complaining. Last time he’d been in the grocery store there had been a sale on Oreos. With the small bits of change he hides away after each visit, he’d finally had enough to buy a pack! So, he’d perched happily on a wall by the parking lot, eating his Oreos as he waited for Pa to return, hopeful grey eyes ever watchful as they seek out ones of warmest brown–</p><p>Pa’s fist smacks into Tommy’s face, his nose making a sickening crunch.</p><p>“Jeez, Tommy, pay attention! You coulda gotten hurt!” Steadying his son, Pa cups the kid’s face with one hand, prodding the nose with the other. “Ain’t broken. You’re lucky I pulled my punch.”</p><p>“M’sorry, Pa…”</p><p>That’s another change that gleefully rides Spring’s heel. Pa’s lessons have gone from pouring over books to something a bit more hands-on. Things like self-defence.</p><p> “You don’t normally get distracted. Feeling sick again?” Pa’s hand shifts, now pressing against Tommy’s forehead. “Don’t have a temperature. Any aches? Sniffles? Lights too bright?”</p><p>“No, it’s fine. M’fine.”</p><p>“You sure?”</p><p>At the kid’s nod, the man backs off, the softness in Pa’s eyes quickly fading as he turns back to his lesson.</p><p>“You need to keep focus, Tommy. In a real fight, getting distracted is as good as losing. And if you’re gonna be spending more time in towns, you need to stay alert. These kinds of people don’t take kindly to strangers. You’d do well to keep your wits about you.”</p><p>Now standing in the middle of their clearing, Pa folds his arms over his chest. “You’re still small, son. Smaller than a grown man. He’ll be bigger and stronger than you. That means you have to–”</p><p>Tommy sighs. “I <em>know</em>, Pa.”</p><p>“Clearly you don’t! How else would I have just hit you?”</p><p>And… Yeah, the kid can’t argue there. So, he doesn’t, eyes dropping to the forest floor in shame. Because he can’t stop his mind from wandering back to those eyes…</p><p>“You’re small so you can’t rely on strength. When you fight, you gotta fight <em>smart</em>. Letting it drag on won’t help you so you gotta do just enough to get an opening to escape. He’ll underestimate you, so use that to your advantage. Dodge his first swing. Don’t go down or forward; go back and to the side. He won’t be expecting to miss, so it’ll throw him off balance. This is your chance and you gotta take it. No hesitation.</p><p>“Aim for a weak point. Eyes, ears, nose, mouth. Throat, even. Hitting him there can disorient him, giving you a chance to run. If he’s too tall, aim here instead.” Pa lifts a hand, pressing it into his own abdomen, just below the ribs. “Hit him hard enough here and you’ll wind him. But don’t aim for the surface. Aim about six inches deep, like you’re trying to punch through his diaphragm. If you do it right, he’ll go down and stay down.”</p><p>As Pa talks, Tommy only nods. He knows this. Pa has taught him it many times. Hell, it’s what he’d been teaching him all day, causing the kid’s attention to wander, the repetitive motions of dodge-and-counter burning into his muscle memory until his bored mind had become distracted. Until he found himself longing to see those warm, brown eyes…</p><p>“Tommy, I know I harp on about this, but it’s important. You have to know how to defend yourself because… Because I’m not always gonna be there to protect you.”</p><p>“Pa…?”</p><p>“I’m your father, Tommy, and as your father it’s my <em>job</em> to protect you. But you’re getting older. You’re gonna go out into the world and do things that I won’t be around for. Things you might not <em>want</em> me around for… But these people? Their minds are as small as their towns. They don’t take kindly to… To…”</p><p>“To strangers…?”</p><p>Tommy meets his father’s eye, that light blue as old and weary as the rest of the man’s face. And Pa sighs.</p><p>“Yeah, Tommy. To ‘strangers.’ And I just want you to be safe. Because I love you, Tommy, and I always will.”</p><p>Before the man’s words can draw in an awkwardness to shroud their clearing, Pa shifts, raising his fists once more. Glad for the conversation to have ended, Tommy drops down into a now-familiar stance.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Tommy is too restless to wait perched on the wall today. Because today’s his birthday! The day he turns fourteen! And that means tonight they eat pizza.</p><p>The list of supplies he’d been given was short, the pack on his back large enough to carry it all. With his job done, all he has to do is wait for Pa to return. So, too restless to perch on his usual spot in sight of their truck, he paces. With summer in full swing, the town around him is livelier now than when they’d first arrived. Strange how different the place feels after only one hundred and four days having passed. And of those one hundred and four days, only fourteen of them had involved trips into town, today included. However, on every single one of those visits, he had seen him. That beautiful boy. The one with the brown eyes that Tommy cannot stop thinking about.</p><p>But he hasn’t spotted him yet today. And that’s why he’s so restless.</p><p>The town is decked out in banners and streamers, all red and white and blue, a birthday celebration besides his own. He knows that these decorations aren’t for him. They never have been. But as a kid he’d used to play pretend that it was. That even though he doesn’t know a single person living in the towns nearby, they all came out to celebrate his birthday with him. This year, he wants something even more than jovial townsfolk and a cheesy pizza shared with Pa. The only gift Tommy wants today is to see eyes of warmest brown.</p><p>The thin crowd milling around him isn’t enough to deter the birthday boy, Tommy keeping his keen eyes sharp as he paces around the parking lot. So, when he spies a flash of charcoal grey that draws his attention to a mop of dark curls, he doesn’t bother trying to fight the grin twitching at his lips. He doesn’t even take time to think his options over, simply pulling his pack on tighter and weaving through the crowd in pursuit of the boy.</p><p>Focusing on his footsteps, keeping them as quiet as he would while stalking game in the woods, Tommy creeps around the corner to peer down the alley behind the grocery store. And there the boy is, boisterously greeting his friends as they crowd around a statue of a bear. It’s the carved wooden mascot usually guarding the door of the bar across the lot.</p><p>Emboldened by both the distance between them and how the teens’ antics are keeping him from their attention, Tommy takes some time to watch the boy. To really look. The usual charcoal jacket has been shrugged into place over broadening shoulders, though some of the fabric is now bare, a sign of patches having been carelessly torn off. The shorn sides of his head have grown back in, the mass of curls clipped shorter. Not that this changes how beautiful he is. Tommy is certain that this boy could shave his entire head and still be stunning enough to repeatedly draw the kid’s fawning gaze.</p><p>This boy is so unlike all the other people he’s idly spied in towns. He’s different, but he wears his difference with pride. Maybe that’s what makes him so captivating. The kid just stands awkwardly at the corner of the alley, watching in fascination as the boy gleefully dumps a fistful of glitter atop the glue his friends had daubed onto the bear. And his heart starts to pound. Hard.</p><p>“The fuck are you doing‽”</p><p>The teens’ heads snap up, Tommy’s following suit only to see a man angrily stomping his way down the other end of the alley. A man in uniform.</p><p>A policeman.</p><p>The teens scatter, their glittery prey forgotten as they fall under the gaze of a predator higher up the food chain. In all different directions they flee, the beautiful boy bringing up the rear of the pack thundering passed Tommy. And as he passes, the boy turns, those warm brown eyes landing on the kid’s own cool grey.</p><p>Tommy isn’t stupid. He knows he should run. Pa has warned him time and time again that cops should be avoided at all cost. But he can’t move. His body won’t listen to him as a fluttering fills his stomach. Because he got to see those eyes up close again. Those eyes that now flash with confusion. A confusion that quickly shifts to realisation before finally flickering to annoyance.</p><p>“Fuckin’ run, dude!”</p><p>And the boy’s hand wraps around Tommy’s wrist, dragging him out of the alley.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The boy is leaning back into a brick wall, lightly panting to catch his breath. His slight detour to grab Tommy had separated him from his friends, the two of them finding themselves alone as they had woven their way through a warren of alleys and backstreets, putting enough space between themselves and that now-sparkling bear as possible.</p><p>“You an idiot or somethin’, huh? Bit soft in the head? Why didn’t ya run?”</p><p>He glares over at Tommy, his annoyance far from frightening as the exertion of their run has flushed his tanned skin, leaving a sweet tint across his cheeks.</p><p>“I- I didn’t do anything.”</p><p>And the boy scoffs. “Yeah, that don’t mean much to cops. <em>Breathing</em> is enough reason for them to fuck you up.”</p><p>He stalks towards Tommy, the boy’s lanky limbs giving him a height advantage. Not that the kid is scared – the boy is trying and failing to loom, his chin jerked up in an attempt at intimidation. All it’s doing is exposing his throat.</p><p>Tommy will be fine.</p><p>“A guy like you? Cops woulda had a field day beating your ass. I coulda got caught coming back to save you. My da woulda <em>killed </em>me!”</p><p>“…Why did you?”</p><p>“What?” Thick, dark brows crease as confusion colours warm brown eyes.</p><p>“You helped me. Why?”</p><p>Taking a step back, the boy looks Tommy up and down. <em>Really</em> looking. Then, with a shake of his head that makes his short curls quiver, he sighs. “You’re lucky you’re so cute, dude, cuz there sure ain’t much going on in that pretty head of yours.”</p><p>
  <em>P-pretty…?</em>
</p><p>This boy. This beautiful boy. The boy with eyes of warmest brown. He… He think’s Tommy is pretty?</p><p>And just like that, it’s back. That hard beating of his heart and that fluttering in his stomach, only this time they bring with them a heat that paints the kid’s pale cheeks pink.</p><p>None of this escapes the boy’s attention, a lopsided smirk pulling at thin lips. He steps closer, leaning in once more, only this time his looming height <em>does</em> have an effect on Tommy. It makes his entire body freeze. Well, everything except his cheeks, that is. They burn even brighter.</p><p>Now that the boy is close, he stoops down, his crooked nose an inch from the tip of Tommy’s.</p><p>“You really wanna know why I helped you?”</p><p>With those warm eyes, the ones that now sparkle and dance with amusement, peering into his own, Tommy can only nod.</p><p>“This world is shitty enough as it is, dude. People should care about each other more. Should help others, even those we don’t know. Guess that makes you my good deed of the day, <em>pretty boy</em>.”</p><p>With his piece said, the boy pulls away, grin still intact as he turns to leave.</p><p>And Tommy doesn’t want him to go. He doesn’t want this to end so soon! He still doesn’t know anything about this mesmerising boy. He doesn’t even know his–</p><p>“Name. W-what’s your name?”</p><p>A few paces from the corner of the alley, the boy pauses, once more turning amused brown eyes to Tommy. “Y’know, if you want something, it’s usually polite to offer something first.”</p><p>The kid licks at his lips, a distraction from the nerves that tighten his chest. “I’m Tommy.”</p><p>“Tommy what?”</p><p>“Henderson. Tommy Henderson.”</p><p>“Huh. That’s good to know.”</p><p>And the boy turns on his heel, heading out of the alley.</p><p>“W-wait! Aren’t you gonna tell me yours?”</p><p>Throwing a bright grin over his shoulder, the boy disappears around the corner.</p><p>“And why would I tell you that?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The journey back takes Tommy longer than he’d like to admit, weaving his way through the alleys and backstreets as he retraces his steps until he regains his bearing. From there, it’s easy enough to hurry his way to the parking lot, though a slight hesitation does slow his step.</p><p>Today has been… Well, more than he could have ever hoped for. He had only wanted to see the boy but instead they had spoken! They had actually <em>spoken</em>! Not only that, but the boy had called him pretty… It doesn’t feel real, his every step taken in a daze. If it wasn’t for the flecks of glitter that linger where the boy had held his wrist, Tommy would have a hard time believing that this whole thing hadn’t been a dream…</p><p>A dream that has come at a cost.</p><p>He’s late. He’s never been late before. Hell, he’s usually the one waiting for Pa!</p><p>Will Pa be angry…?</p><p>He doesn’t have any more time to wonder, to let the question churn around and around in his head as he laps nervously at his lips. Because he’s here. He’s back at the lot.</p><p>Weaving his way through the now-dense crowds, he makes a beeline for where they parked, seeing a pizza box precariously perched on the edge of the truck’s roof as Pa stands in the bed. And he’s scanning the crowd. Pa’s face, it’s scrunched up with worry as he desperately searches for his son. Tommy’s chest pangs with guilt.</p><p>The kid knows the exact moment that his pa spots him, the man’s face washing over with relief before he springs down, knocking the pizza box to the ground in his haste. Pa speeds to his son as fast as the crowds will allow, not once hesitating before he wraps strong arms around Tommy and pulls him into his chest. And the kid sinks into the safety of his pa’s embrace, letting his eyes drift closed as a large hand lifts to cradle the back of his head, a mantra of relief drifting passed his ears.</p><p>“You’re okay… You’re okay… Tommy, you’re okay… Fu– frack, thought something had happened. That you’d got hurt, or found, or… Or… Was so worried.”</p><p>“M’sorry, Pa…”</p><p>“No, don’t apologise. <em>Never</em> apologise, Tommy. It’s only words. Just… Just make sure to never do this again…”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Although the air is cool on Tommy’s flushed skin, the still summer air offers no breeze to further ease his fever.</p><p>“Here, kiddo. Drink some more water.”</p><p>He eyes the canteen in Uncle Jacque’s hand, his tingling fingers unconsciously drifting to the scars on his thigh.</p><p>“Aw, shit, Tommy. You ain’t still holding a grudge, are ya? It was an accident, remember?”</p><p>The kid sighs, rubbing at tired eyes. He’s sick again. This happened a lot when he was little though his aches and fevers had become less frequent as he’d grown. That they still happen make him feel useless, like a child, so he hides them as best as he can. Whenever Pa finds out he’s sick he gets a bit protective. <em>Over</em>protective. Which is why Tommy is currently alone with his uncle. As soon as Pa had realised the kid had another fever, he’d barred him from the trip into town, using their emergency radio to contact Uncle Jacque to come babysit when the next scheduled supply run arrived.</p><p>Uncle Jacque shakes his canteen. “Come on, kiddo, you need to drink something. If you get worse, Harry will be grumpier than usual. We don’t want that!”</p><p>“M’not thirsty.”</p><p>“You never are. But ya still gotta drink. You’ve been pissing with sweat.”</p><p>When Tommy doesn’t still budge, it’s Jacque’s turn to sigh.</p><p>“Tell ya what. If you take a nice big gulp of water, in exchange I’ll answer one question.”</p><p>“…’Bout what?”</p><p>“Anything you want.”</p><p>Shuffling slightly, the kid reaches for the bottle, grateful when the large man meets him halfway. Then, making short work of the cap, he takes a drink. The water is cool, it’s sudden intrusion upon his parched mouth causing him to cough and splutter.</p><p>“Easy there. Little sips. Don’t wanna explain to Harry how you drowned in a damn forest!”</p><p>His drink taken, Tommy hands the canteen back, Uncle Jacque screwing the cap on tight before tucking it into his pack. Cargo secure, he turns back to the kid with a soft smile. “So, then. What’ll it be?”</p><p>Tommy slumps back into his comfortable position atop his camping mat, the exertion of moving having drained his strength. With a nervous lick of his lips and a hesitant tilt of his head, he asks his question.</p><p>“Am I… Am I pretty?”</p><p>His uncle’s laugh is loud, a harsh echo through the trees. “Pretty? Why on earth would ya wanna be <em>pretty</em>? What are you, a girl?”</p><p>“So… I’m not?”</p><p>“Oh, you’re many things, Tommy, but ‘pretty’ sure ain’t one of ‘em. Give it a few more years, though, and I’m sure you’ll manage ‘handsome.’ Y’know, like a <em>man</em>.”</p><p>And, well, Tommy’s not sure how that makes him feel. The Princesses are pretty, that’s why the handsome Heroes like them. But Uncle Jacque says that he can’t be pretty yet the boy with warm brown eyes had said that he is.</p><p>Tommy can’t think about this right now. He’s still sick, his fever clouding his mind and sapping his strength. Not to mention this all so confusing. He doubts he’ll ever wrap his head around it…</p><p>“Y’know, kiddo, I thought you would ask about your mom. About Chelsea.”</p><p>The kid’s dazed eyes go wide. “I could?”</p><p>“Before, yeah, but not now.” The man lifts a large hand, waving it behind Tommy, the kid turning to see the headlights of Pa’s truck flickering between the trees. “Better luck next time, kiddo. Though you will have to do me another favour first.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Well, well, well. If it ain’t pretty boy Henderson.”</p><p>Tommy startles, turning from his vigilant watch of the parking lot in time to see that beautiful boy flopping down to take a seat on the wall. He’s smirking, those warm brown eyes dancing as they take in the kid’s shocked face. Slipping his pack from his back, one littered with almost as many patches and pins as his charcoal jacket, the boy rummages through it before pulling out a packet of Oreos.</p><p>“You wanted these, right?”</p><p>“W-what…? How did you…?”</p><p>“You ain’t the only one who sneaks around watching people, y’know.” Grin growing wider, the boy absently throws a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the grocery store. “Saw you put them back at the till. Thought I’d help you out. Good deed of the day and all that.”</p><p>At this revelation, a blush creeps up to paint Tommy’s cheeks. It had been embarrassing, not having the right change in the store, the price being higher than he’d estimated. Why couldn’t they just list the price <em>with</em> tax on the ticket? And if that mistake isn’t bad enough, now he finds out that he’d been spotted in his people watching, too? This beautiful boy probably thinks he’s a complete weirdo!</p><p>“I… don’t have any money…”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry. Neither do I.” Opening the packet, the boy smirks before he thrusts it towards Tommy. “Now, you gonna stop blushing and take one?”</p><p>The kid can only shake his head. “Don’t even know your name…”</p><p>With a light sigh, the boy gives him an uncertain look. “Is it that important?”</p><p>Tommy nods, his certainty incontestable. “Yeah. I wanna know more about you.”</p><p>“Geez, dude. Learn to throw a curve ball or somethin’, yeah?” Turning away, the boy pulls his jacket in tighter, a redness making his ears glow. “It’s Jeff, alright? Jeff Pavão.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Where you from, anyway?”</p><p>Tommy pauses, hands tightening around the handles of his shopping basket. He’s been dreading this moment. Hoping it wouldn’t happen. But if he’s meeting up with Jeff on these trips into town, he supposed that it was bound to happen eventually.</p><p>“Does it matter?”</p><p>“Dude. <em>You’re </em>the one who said he wanted to know more about <em>me</em>. This shit’s a two-way street, y’know?”</p><p>And, well, yeah, the boy’s right. Tommy <em>had</em> been the one to start this. It’s only fair he talks about himself, too. Not that there’s much he can say…</p><p>“Dunno.”</p><p>“…You don’t know?”</p><p>Tommy shakes his head, eyes never leaving the shelves of cans, pale grey lazily trailing over the labels. He doesn’t bother reading the words, the pictures giving more than enough information as to the contents.</p><p>“We move around a lot. Usually this kinda terrain so I guess somewhere nearby.”</p><p>At that, Jeff laughs, the noise musical and sweet. It makes the kid’s heart skip a beat.</p><p>“Oh, you ain’t from ‘round here, Tommy. You talk like a fuckin’ apple picker!”</p><p>Not knowing how to respond, the kid keeps his mouth shut. Trying to ignore the way Jeff’s eyes never leave him, he grabs various cans of veggies and dumps them into his basket. They’re not as good as fresh but they’re cheap and last longer, perfect for their winter stockpile.</p><p>“…Tommy.”</p><p>The voice is quiet; unsure. It doesn’t suit Jeff one bit. The kid turns to him, finding the beautiful boy nervously fiddling with a pin on his lapel.</p><p>“Are… Are things okay with your da? I mean, can you not ask him about stuff or…?”</p><p>“S’fine. Only talking about the past makes him sad.”</p><p>“Sad? Why?”</p><p>How much can he tell him? How much is safe for Tommy to share with this boy? It’s not like the kid knows that much himself, and Pa has always warned him about strangers but… But he wants to trust Jeff. And he wants Jeff to trust him, too.</p><p>“My ma. She was, uh… She was killed. When I was a baby.”</p><p>“Ah, shit, Tommy. I’m sorry.” The boy lifts a hand as if to touch him – to comfort him – but it falls away, unsure. Instead, his lips turn down with a frown. “My ma fucked off a few years back. Ran off to the city. To get away from my da, y’know? Bitch never even thought to take me with her.”</p><p>A silence falls over them, the two boys trailing up and down aisle after aisle, Tommy grabbing supplies from his list. It’s all cans and boxes, nothing fresh. Once winter arrives, they’ll have nothing but smoked meats and canned fruits and veggies until the roads start to clear in spring. The kid always grabs a few pots of pudding, too. The kind that has no real nutritional but lasts for years. The first time he’d done it, Pa had been annoyed at him, saying that they didn’t have money to waste. After the third week of winter rations, however, the man had cracked a pot open and savoured the sweet taste. It had become a winter staple after that, them both enthusiastically counting the down the days until their next supper treat.</p><p>“Is there no way to find out?”</p><p>Tommy drags his eyes away from the Oreo’s price ticket. He can get a pack this week. They’re not on sale. “Find out what?”</p><p>“About your ma. About <em>you</em>. Does your da have a cabinet or desk drawer or somethin’? Somewhere he keeps his, like, documents and shit.”</p><p>Tommy tilts his head, thinking. “There’s a box he keeps hidden. Found it years ago.”</p><p>“And? What’s inside?”</p><p>“Dunno. It’s locked.”</p><p>Turning to head for the checkout, the kid pretends to not see as Jeff slips a packet of cookies into his jacket.</p><p>“Well, that’s that, then. If he don’t want ya to see inside, it must be somethin’ important. If he won’t tell ya, you’ll just have to find out about it yourself.”</p><p>“But I don’t have the key.”</p><p>With a sharp grin, Jeff turns towards the exit for his usual smoke outside while he waits for Tommy to check out. As he strides away, he leaves the kid a wave and some parting words.</p><p>“Like that’s ever stopped me before. I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“It’s simple, Tommy. All cops are bastards cuz it’s impossible to be both a cop <em>and</em> a good person. And no, saying ‘oh, they’re just doing their job’ isn’t an excuse for the shit they do. How is being a violent, racist, queerphobic motherfucker suddenly okay because they’re getting money for it? That excuse sure as fuck didn’t fly at Nuremburg…”</p><p>Jeff twists his wrist, pressing Tommy’s knife into the slit from another angle, chipping paint.</p><p>“From what I’ve seen, there are two types of cop. The first are like my da. Angry men who want power and authority so they can bully and abuse people. To feel bigger, y’know? <em>Those</em> cops have always been bastards. The second type say they wanna make a difference. Wanna help people. When they become cops, they see the job for what it really is, and have a choice. If they keep their mouth shut and let all that shit happen or even join in, then they’re bastards. If they speak up, they realise they’re the only good person there, then they quit – or get <em>fired</em>! – in which case they’re no longer a cop.”</p><p>Giving the knife one last twist, the flap clicks open, the opening to the squad car’s gas tank now exposed.</p><p>“Finally! So, yeah. We say ‘all cops are bastards’ because it’s true. Sure, they’re not the ones <em>making</em> the rules, but they’re deciding to <em>enforce</em> them, right? If they weren’t a bastard, they wouldn’t wanna be a cop!”</p><p>With that beautiful grin sliding into place, the boy hands Tommy the knife. Sheathing the blade back into his boot, the kid watches in curiosity as Jeff reaches for his pack.</p><p>“So… what are we doing…?”</p><p>“That’s simple, pretty boy.”</p><p>He glances up at Tommy, brown eyes dancing all impish and bright in a way that makes the kid’s heart flutter. Then, unzipping his pack, Jeff pulls out a bottle of bleach.</p><p>“Praxis.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The two boys quickly settle into a routine. Every time that Pa takes Tommy into town, the kid keeps an eye out for Jeff. If the boy is nearby, he grins his way over and tags along as Tommy goes about his chores and collects the requested supplies. After, they sit together on a wall and share a packet of Oreos. If they’re on sale, Tommy buys them. If not, well, Jeff gets them a packet regardless.</p><p>Jeff is brash and confident, all bright and colourful and demanding attention, and every time he laughs it makes Tommy’s heart soar. That laugh, ringing out loud and unapologetic, is the most beautiful sound that the kid has ever heard. That is, until the last day of October. Until he first hears Jeff sing.</p><p>The dirt road through the forest had been harder to traverse than usual, the rains of the day before making their progress slow. Because of this, they’d arrived in town later in the day than usual, the sun already beginning its descent. Tommy hadn’t been given a list of supplies this time, instead tagging along in order to wander the town and look at the all the funny costumes. The first time he’d seen this happen, Pa had just laughed and told him that it’s a tradition the townsfolk do ever year, one where they dress up as animals and Heroes and even Monsters. This tradition fascinates Tommy as much now as it had when he was young so when Pa had announced his need to travel into town to make a phone call, the kid had jumped at the chance to accompany him.</p><p>It isn’t long after Pa disappears into the bar that a familiar grin pops into view.</p><p>“Happy Halloween, dude!”</p><p>Jeff’s appearance is… not what Tommy had been expecting. Along with the lengthening mop of dark curls and usual charcoal jacket is part of a costume. Haphazardly thrown on over his curls is a headband adorned with triangles of white fabric, giving the appearance of cat ears. Around his neck is a skin-tight collar encrusted with gold glitter, the cat-like costume completed with some whiskers drawn on either side of a blacked-out nose tip. Before Tommy is able to comment, Jeff swings an arm around his shoulders and manoeuvres them both closer to the grocery store, positioning them under one of the glowing lights outside.</p><p>“Don’t worry. Brought a costume for you, too, in case I saw ya. We’ll be a matching pair!” Pulling a black pencil from his jacket pocket, Jeff twirls it through his fingers as he looks down at the kid with hopeful eyes. “It’s just eyeliner so it’ll wipe off quick. Your pa won’t ever know.”</p><p>Tommy glances around. Everyone else, kids and adults alike, are dressed in some costume or another. And his pa <em>does</em> tell him to try to not draw too much attention to himself…</p><p>“O-okay.”</p><p>Popping the cap off with a grin, Jeff leans in close, his voice bright and musical as he works.</p><p>Three lines are drawn on the first cheek.</p><p>“<em>Abraham de Lacy</em>—”</p><p>Three drawn on the other.</p><p>“—<em>Giuseppe Casey</em>—”</p><p>His nose is blacked out to match.</p><p>“—<em>Thomas O’Malley</em>.”</p><p>A headband, this one with the appearance of ginger cat ears, is pulled from somewhere in Jeff’s pocket and plopped on top of Tommy’s head.</p><p>“<em>O’Malley the Alley Cat</em>.” <sup>[1]</sup></p><p>Jeff pulls back, whisking away his eyeliner as he admires his handiwork. “Beautiful. Stunning! I’ve really outdone myself! Here, look.” Not waiting for Tommy to respond, the boy grabs his phone, snuggling up close beside the kid before lifting it up. “Come on, Thomas. Smile!”</p><p>And the phone flashes, taking a photo.</p><p>The deed now done, Jeff pulls up the gallery, grinning down at his screen. Curious, the kid peers at it, too. In the photo Tommy now has a black nose and whiskers to match Jeff’s. The kid on the screen is smiling, all shy and uncertain as he gazes up towards the camera. But that’s not where Tommy’s pale eyes are looking now. Next to Photo Tommy is Jeff, his grin big and bright, making the kid’s pale in comparison. Jeff is so handsome that it makes Tommy’s chest ache…</p><p>“There, now we can hit the town! Duchess can’t be seen without her Thomas, after all!”</p><p>Walking side by side as close as Tommy thinks he can get away with, they head down Main Street. Despite the evening chill, the kid feels a calm warmth seep through his bones as they wander, Jeff babbling on about everything and nothing, occasionally pointing out a costume and critiquing what it’s supposed to be. Not that Tommy can join in – he doesn’t know any of them…</p><p>Eventually they tire of walking back and forth, finding a wall and taking a seat. It doesn’t take long for Jeff to shrug off his pack, unzipping it to pull out their usual packet of Oreos. Taking the offered cookie, Tommy takes it with a smile before turning back to watching the crowds.</p><p>There is a group of girls running down the street with a shriek of laughter, faces painted bright green and capes of black trash bags flowing in the wind. They steamroll passed a group of older kids dressed in brightly coloured clothes and wielding plastic weapons. Jeff had pointed out similar costumes earlier, saying that they were superheroes and naming each and every one they saw. Crossing the road is a little girl in a light blue dress, her blonde hair styled in tight curls, accompanied by a man who is likely her father.</p><p>And the man makes Tommy freeze.</p><p>He’s tall and broad, straight hair clipped short along the back with a little length still left on the top. His face is framed by a dark beard, neatly trimmed and thick. Kind eyes and short nose grace his face, the picture completed by full lips curling a warm smile. Fitted blue jeans are tucked into worn boots, a red check shirt straining over his biceps. And the top buttons are undone, a patch of thick hair peeking out.</p><p>“Shit. Goldilocks must have been an idiot, huh? Papa Bear looking more tempting than any porridge…”</p><p>Jeff’s voice wavers, his usual bravado gone, the boy looking anywhere but at Tommy. Is he saying what the kid thinks he is? Is Jeff talking about the man? Could he be… like him?</p><p>“Y-yeah. He’s handsome. <em>Really</em> handsome…”</p><p>Those warm brown eyes finally meet the kid’s pale grey, and Jeff scoots closer, voice low. “You, uh, like guys, too, right? Kinda had a feeling ya might…”</p><p>Tommy simply nods, not trusting himself to speak.</p><p>“Fuck. I, uh… Well, small town like this, I thought I might be alone. But never gave up hope. Tommy, I’m, ah, I’m bi.” Warm brown eyes light up, a smile tugging at Jeff’s lips. “Oh, fuck. I said it. I actually said it! Bi. I’m bi… What about you? Ya like just guys or…?”</p><p>The kid gives another nod.</p><p>Jeff accepts him with a smile.</p><p>“Cool. So, gay then. As for me? Ain’t a gender I don’t like. Like my men pretty, my women handsome, and my enbies <em>dangerous</em>!”</p><p>Sitting closer than ever, the beautiful boy babbles on excitedly, his words only interrupted by sporadic bursts of relieved laughter. And Tommy understands. The feeling of loneliness; the reluctance to voice how he feels; the fear of anyone finding out. He understands it all—</p><p>A flash in the crowd.</p><p>Tommy’s blood turns to ice.</p><p>It’s a face, the skin all cracked and white. Once bright clothes are stained and worn. Long locks of rainbow hair messy and dank. Its eyes are dark and mocking; nose all swollen and bloated; red lips a twisted gash from which laughter bleeds. It has a face that isn’t <em>really</em> a face. It’s something else. Something that shouldn’t be. Something that tries to fit in, tries to seem human, tries to get people to trust it. But Tommy knows better. He sees it for what it really is. An abomination.</p><p>“…Tommy?”</p><p>His chest tightens, breathing fast and shallow as he tries to tear his eyes away. Tries and fails. He stares on, tracking its movements through the crowd. Tingling fingers clench into tight fists. A dull ache radiates from the mark on his side. Lips curl, a snarl forming as teeth start to itch.</p><p>To itch.</p><p><em>Itch</em>.</p><p>“Hey. Tommy. Tommy, listen to me!”</p><p>Just because his rifle is in the truck doesn’t mean that he’s unarmed. The kid always has at least one knife on him, Pa makes sure of it. His stomach clenches, bile trying to force its way up his throat, panicked panting the only thing holding it down. His head starts to spin, vision blurring as an oily grease drips through his mind to pool at the base of his skull.</p><p>He starts to move but before he can act, before he can hunt down this Monster before it hurts anyone, his body gives in, weak and heavy limbs dragging him to the ground.</p><p>Only he doesn’t hit the concrete, arms looping under his own and around his ribs, taking his weight and dragging him from the street. In the jostling, something hard and sharp, possibly a belt buckle, jabs roughly into the mark on his side, the shooting pain washing away the kid’s anger.</p><p>And with the anger gone, all Tommy feels is the fear.</p><p>Now off the street and in the privacy of an alley, Jeff lets the kid’s weight drag them both to the floor, pulling him in close to his chest. Then, he starts to sing.</p><p>“<em>Remember the days when your laughter was meant.</em>”</p><p>Tommy presses his face into that hard chest, blocking out every sound besides this lyrical voice.</p><p>“<em>Remember the days when you did what you said.</em>”</p><p>A scent fills his nose. One of light sweat and old smoke. It gets drawn in more and more with each panted breath until it fills him up, a balm for his soul.</p><p>“<em>You’re counting the days ‘til you get high again.</em>”</p><p>Each breath is less of a struggle than the last. Deeper; slower; calmer. He nuzzles in as a hand trails up to run through his messy hair.</p><p>“<em>Chill out, be easy on yourself.</em>” <sup>[2]</sup></p><p>“Be… Be easy…?”</p><p>“Yeah. Be easy on yourself, Tommy. Be easy on yourself.”</p><p>How long they stay like this, his face pressed into Jeff’s chest as the boy holds him close, murmuring soothingly into his hair, Tommy doesn’t know. But what he <em>does</em> know is two things. The first, that this right here, being in Jeff’s arms, feels right. Righter than anything else he’s ever experienced. The second is that, no matter how much he longs for this moment to never end, he knows that it must. And soon. He can’t be late to meet Pa again.</p><p>Reluctantly, the kid shifts, pulling back and out of this beautiful boy’s arms. Brown eyes peer down at him, as kind and relieved as they are warm.</p><p>“Shit, Tommy. Really scared me for a sec there. Why didn’t ya tell me you’re scared of clowns?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The truck is silent as they pull into the lot.</p><p>Because winter is here.</p><p>As the cold builds, the snowfall becomes heavier and heavier, making the backroads and mountain passes too dangerous to traverse. That’s why they stock up on supplies and bunker down until spring. This wouldn’t usually bother the kid beyond being stuck at camp and unable to wander through his wilderness. For the first time, he has something in town he doesn’t want to be parted from. Someone who he will miss.</p><p>With the truck now parked, Tommy turns to his pa, waiting for his supply list.</p><p>He doesn’t get one.</p><p>“Not this time, son. We’re already stocked up.”</p><p>Tommy’s brows cinch in. “Then… Why did we come to town?”</p><p>Pa just shrugs, not meeting his gaze as he scratches at his stubble. “Just, ah, need to talk to Jacque about stuff. Thought we’d meet in the bar. You’ll be okay entertaining yourself for a few hours, right?”</p><p>At that, the kid’s head perks up, his mood lifting with it. No task means more time. “Yeah.”</p><p>A small smile twitches at Pa’s lip, threatening to grow. “Thought you might.” Lifting a hand, he ruffles his son’s hair, Tommy swatting him away with a huff. “Well, go on then. Go have fun. We meet back here at sixteen hundred hours. And don’t be late. The pizza will get cold!”</p><p>The kid doesn’t need to be told twice, tugging his scarf tight around his neck before shoving the truck door open and slipping out into the cold. He hurries across the lot, the snow crunching under his boots. As he nears the grocery store and sees Jeff huddled in the doorway, a grin splits his face in two. A grin that is returned.</p><p>“Damn, pretty boy. What’s got you so fired up?”</p><p>“No tasks today. Just free time.”</p><p>“Oh, shit. That’s great! How long we got?”</p><p>“Until four!”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>With the kid not knowing much about town, Jeff had eagerly chosen their activity: ice skating.</p><p>After a quick detour for the boy to grab some skates from home as Tommy waited outside, they’d hurried on their way to a little frozen pond just outside of the town. Sitting on a bench along the bank, the kid watches Jeff kneels before him, the boy babbling excitedly as he tightly laces the skates that he’s letting Tommy borrow.</p><p>“My da tried to get me into sports, y’know? Big hockey fan. Not that I ever cared for it. Too aggressive. Locker rooms were kinda awkward, too. Didn’t know where to look! Old bastard thought that it would ‘make a man outta me’. All it did was make me realise how hot guys are! What a way for his plan to backfire, huh?”</p><p>With a snort of laughter, Jeff plonks down on the bench, yanking his boots off before starting on lacing his own skates.</p><p>“We both knew what he was doing. Not that he told the truth about it. ‘Just thinking of your future, boy’. Yeah, whatever. I’d humoured him while looking for another club to join. Not many ways outta this fuckin’ town except on a scholarship. Football and hockey, he’d like. But if there’s two ways of doing something, of course I’m gonna pick the third!”</p><p>“What did you choose?”</p><p>The boy’s face lights up with a pleased smirk, warm brown eyes shining bright. “Theatre.”</p><p>“That why you sing a lot?”</p><p>“Yup. Gotta practice as much as I can. Mr Defur said it takes ten thousand hours to master somethin’. If I’m wanting to get out outta here, I’ve gotta be the best, y’know?”</p><p>Both now ready, Jeff hops up onto his feet, holding a gloved hand out for Tommy. He takes it. The layers of fabric separating them are thick, but the kid likes to think that he can feel the beautiful boy’s warmth anyway.</p><p>Taking his first tentative step onto the ice, Tommy is unsure of how to move in these skates. Jeff delights in wrapping an arm around his waist, pulling him close. The kid doesn’t complain, leaning into the boy. He’s taller than Tommy. Broader, too. Probably because he’s got the best part of a year on the kid. Tommy isn’t small, he’s just still growing! Despite his usual reservations about his size, the kid doesn’t think it’s so bad in this moment. It feels nice to be so fully engulfed by Jeff’s embrace. <em>Really</em> nice.</p><p>So, when the beautiful boy leans in to whisper in his ear, Tommy doesn’t care enough to fight down his blush.</p><p>“Don’t worry, Tommy. I’ve got ya.”</p><p>As they gently glide around the pond, the kid’s heart picks up. It’s not from the exercise, Tommy accustomed enough to hiking that he traverses mountain trails with an ease to which even Park Rangers aspire. No, this quickening of both heart and breath is from how close he finds himself to the boy he admires. Sure, they sit on benches and walls all the time, their thighs squished comfortably together. But right now, with Jeff pressed in behind him, hands gripping his hips and not another soul to witness them… Tommy doesn’t fight it. He leans back, letting their bodies meld together, their movements becoming one.</p><p>“You’re a natural, pretty boy.”</p><p>Before they know it, they’re flying around the pond, hand in hand. Jeff’s voice drifts between them, a lilt as beautiful as birdsong.</p><p>“<em>Find yourself a girl and settle down.”</em></p><p>The kid’s face aches from smiling, heart feeling light despite how hard it beats.</p><p>“<em>Live a simple life in a quiet town.”</em></p><p>This moment here on the ice. It’s one he knows he’ll always hold dear. One that will warm his heart through the dead of winter as he awaits the arrival of spring.</p><p>“<em>Steady as she goes.</em>” <sup>[3]</sup></p><p>Warm brown eyes lift, meeting pale grey. Seeing him watching, Jeff starts. His cheeks, already ruddy from the cold, deepen to a crimson that reaches his ears. He goes to turn, jerking away too quickly and losing his balance. Their hands still tightly grasped, as the boy falls, he drags Tommy down with him.</p><p>They hit the ice, thick jackets cushioning the landing as their momentum sends them sliding for another few feet. Hands finally parting, they lay there giggling, their heavy breaths loosing wispy clouds. Jeff shifts, pushing himself up. Just a little; just enough. A gloved hand drops next to Tommy’s head, skimming over messy black hair. Then, as a question starts to drift through pale grey eyes, the boy makes his move.</p><p>Jeff leans down, pressing his lips to Tommy’s.</p><p>The kid tenses, his surprised squeak smothered between them.</p><p>Jerking back sharply, Jeff starts to pull away; to put some distance between them.</p><p>“Shit, Tommy, I’m sorry. I- I thought that—"</p><p>He doesn’t get very far.</p><p>Tommy lurches up, gloved fingers gripping desperately onto Jeff’s jacket and pulling him back in for another kiss.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Aaand we're back!</p><p>I've always said that Feburary was the worst month - this one has been no exception. Had much more work than I realised, missed a deadline, begged for an extention, just barely made the next deadline, then got sick again.</p><p>Then - then! - this chapter turned out to be a lot longer than anticipated. I cut it in half.</p><p>As always, let me know what you think and I'll see you shortly for the next chapter: 'Ten Thousand is born'</p><p>&lt;3</p><p>Jeff's songs this chapter:<br/>[1] <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yRET1vsfiJM">Thomas O'Malley - Disney's The Aristocats</a><br/>[2] <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b8al1lPBUPI">Yo Hello Hooray - USS (Ubiquitous Synergy Seeker)</a><br/>[3] <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DXAidGQUuns">Steady As She Goes - The Raconteurs</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Flashback, part 3/3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tommy's world ends.</p>
<p>Ten Thousand's begins.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content warning:</p>
<p>Homophobia and a single instance of a homophobic slur; abuse.</p>
<p>This all happens in the same short scene. Should you prefer to skip it, it's marked with ### both at the start and the end of the scene.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Spring!</p>
<p>It’s finally here!</p>
<p>Melting snows; sprouting flowers; trips into town: fucking <em>finally</em>!</p>
<p>Being cooped up in their cabin all winter has always made him antsy and restless and this year has been no exception. The only difference had been the cause.</p>
<p>Pa had kept more of a distance, allowing Tommy space to himself that he’d never been afforded before. While he had occasionally prompted his son to study the guidebooks – the ones that the kid has already memorised cover to cover! – Pa had been more willing to hang back and let Tommy work on his own projects. His knots don’t need much work, especially his hitches, but when it comes to carving, there is still room for improvement. He’d whittled his way through two blades!</p>
<p>So, no. It wasn’t Pa’s constant presence that made this winter unbearable, rather who <em>wasn’t</em> there.</p>
<p>He’d missed travelling into town and seeing Jeff grin his way over. He’d missed perching on a wall by the parking lot and sharing a packet of Oreos, however the cookies had been obtained. He’d missed walking through alleys and backstreets listening to the boy as he talked and laughed and sang.</p>
<p>Tommy had missed Jeff. Had missed his attitude, his brashness, and his cockiness. Had missed his eyes of warmest brown, his scent of stale smoke, and his lips–</p>
<p>Pa’s door slams shut, the man jabbing the keys into the ignition.</p>
<p>“Ready to head into town?”</p>
<p>A crooked smile splits the kid’s face in two, making the man chuckle.</p>
<p>“I’ll take that as a yes.”</p>
<p>Tommy clicks his seatbelt into place, pale grey eyes drifting towards the window. The ground is a patchwork of snow and soil, ferns and spring blooms. He takes it all in, eager to see it blur into roads and buildings and people. But Pa doesn’t start the engine. Instead, he scratches at rough stubble before clearing his throat.</p>
<p>“Tommy, you’re, uh, getting to that age where… Well, you’re becoming a man. Your body is changing. It’s different now and, ah…”</p>
<p>The kid tenses, eyes snapping over to his pa.</p>
<p>
  <em>Is… Is he…? Oh. Oh, fuck no.</em>
</p>
<p>“When we’re in town, wo– Uh, <em>people</em> are gonna start looking different to you. Start being interesting in ways they weren’t before. Some, ah… Some more than others. These urges, they’re… Well, they’re normal. Natural. Even if–”</p>
<p>He turns to his son, his next words dying in his throat. Wide eyes downturned, fingers tugging at loose threads on his pants, the kid is the very picture of teenage awkwardness. The man sighs.</p>
<p>“Suppose you’ve realised this already. Frack knows you’ve seen enough rutting seasons…”</p>
<p>At this, Tommy digs deep, meeting his pa’s eye to give a quick nod.</p>
<p>With a low chuckle, one little more than a rumble deep in his chest, the man reaches out to clasp his son’s shoulder. “You may be a young man now, but I’m still your father. Always will be. You can come to me about anything, even this kinda stuff. You know that, right?”</p>
<p>With another nod, this one less harried, the kid returns the man’s soft smile.</p>
<p>“Yeah, Pa. I know.”</p>
<p>The lie settles like ash in his mouth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Boots crunch on gravel.</p>
<p>Time is precious today. More so than normal. With their supplies running low after winter, Tommy’s list of items to gather will take longer to complete. He can’t afford to waste a single second.</p>
<p>Turning corner after corner, he checks all of the teens’ usual haunts. On the third one, he strikes gold. Keeping his distance, he waits for that head of dark curls to lift; for warm brown eyes to meet his own pale grey; for Jeff to pass his cigarette to a friend before making his excuses to leave.</p>
<p>Tommy ducks into an alley, eagerly waiting for the beautiful boy to arrive. He doesn’t wait long. As soon as he catches sight of that charcoal jacket turning the corner, the kid lurches forward, closing the distance in a heartbeat. Bowling into Jeff. The boy’s body is taller – <em>broader</em> – than Tommy remembers, though that just means he’s sturdy enough to catch the kid without them both tumbling to the ground. Strong arms wrap around him, Jeff holding him close as he nuzzles into Tommy’s hair.</p>
<p>And this is it.</p>
<p>“Fuck, pretty boy.”</p>
<p>This is what he’d been missing.</p>
<p>“Thought I was gonna go crazy.”</p>
<p>He’s finally home.</p>
<p>“Never wanna go that long without ya again.”</p>
<p>He wants to stay like this forever, wrapped up in the arms of this beautiful boy, but he knows he can’t. He knows that time is short. He knows that he needs to share his plan and quickly. He still has a list of supplies to buy, after all. This town is foreign to him, Tommy having to rely on Jeff’s knowledge to navigate it. But the world is made up of so much more than this cluster of buildings nestled by a forest at the foot of a mountain. Outside of this town is the wilderness, and the wilderness is the kid’s territory.</p>
<p>“Found a way. There’s a clearing ‘bout three miles south of town. Filled with <em>Rubus parviflorus</em>– erm, thimbleberry? Big ones. You know it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“To spring!” Uncle Jacque lifts a fresh beer can in yet another toast before cracking it open and taking a gulp. “Shit, I’ve missed you guys! When ya all holed up and hibernatin’ I’ve got no one to pester!”</p>
<p>Tommy tilts his head, confusion leading his brows to cinch. “What about your friends?”</p>
<p>“Friends? The fuck are those?” The man’s laughter rumbles out, loud and deep. “Nah, ain’t got many. Work’s always got me busy. You two ain’t the only ones living such a nomadic life. How else could I traipse along the high line after you two, huh? Ain’t no real home for me to go back to. Ya think a lovin’ wife would let me do this shit?”</p>
<p>Uncle Jacque’s language has always been coarse, something that Pa frequently calls him on. Unless he’s drinking, too, that is. Tommy doesn’t know why they drink this stuff, the beer’s smell bitter enough to make him gag. Despite Pa offering him a can, the kid decided to stick with the soda Uncle Jacque always brings for him. It’s sticky and sweet. Tommy likes sweet.</p>
<p>“Nothin’ wrong with this life, Jacque.” Pa waves his can around, gesturing at the clearing. “We’re surrounded by nature. Trees! S’all alive. So fu– er, frackin’ beautiful!”</p>
<p>“Y’know what else is beautiful? Women. And y’know what this here forest don’t have? Yup. Ya guessed it. <em>Women</em>.” Draining his can, Uncle Jacque gently crushes the sides in before grabbing a slice of now-cold pizza. “Don’t know how you do it, Harry. A month out here and those deer are gonna start lookin’ mighty temptin’! Give me a city and its sluts any day.”</p>
<p>Pa sighs, throwing Uncle Jacque a drunk but admonishing look. The man just grins before chomping down on his slice.</p>
<p>“Sure, cities have… <em>conveniences</em>. But those places? They’re dead and they’re ugly and they’re bright. Too bright! Can’t even look at the damn stars!”</p>
<p>“And thank God for that! Problem with lookin’ at the stars is ya ain’t got no clue what’s <em>lookin’ back</em>.”</p>
<p>At this, the kid’s ears perk up. “Looking back…?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, lookin’ back. With all those fuck– I mean, <em>frackin’ </em>planets out there just bobbin’ around those stars, ya really think we’re alone in the universe? This guy I met, used to work at Area 51–”</p>
<p>“Oh, here we go…” Pa shakes his head before knocking back the rest of his beer.</p>
<p>Uncle Jacque turns to him; annoyance is clear on his face. “’Oh, here we go’ what?”</p>
<p>Pa just waves him off. “Nothin’, nothin’.”</p>
<p>“No, out with it.”</p>
<p>“Just… You an’ your conspiracies…”</p>
<p>“Really, Harry? <em>Conspiracies</em>? Like you’re one ta talk.”</p>
<p>And just like that, a chill drifts over the clearing, that handful of words threatening to bring winter back. Pa’s face is blank, his jaw tense as it works side to side. His knuckles whiten; the empty beer can crushes with ease. But as quickly as this tension arrives, it also passes.</p>
<p>“Not this, Jacque. Not tonight.”</p>
<p>“Sure, sure…”</p>
<p>Grabbing a beer from the cooler, the man tosses it over to Pa who eagerly cracks it open and glugs some down. With a new slice of pizza in hand, Jacque grins down at Tommy.</p>
<p>“So, Area 51.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s quiet.</p>
<p>But then Tommy knew that it would be.</p>
<p>While the trails close to town can get busy by midsummer, spring is still holding on strong. That’ll only last for another few weeks, though. Kinda why it was important to show Jeff the way as soon as the weather had permitted.</p>
<p>Tommy’s friend–</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>Tommy’s <em>boyfriend</em> had known the clearing that the kid had asked about. Turns out those thimbleberries are a local camping spot for the teens from town. At the height of summer, the older ones even go there to party. Not that it matters to the kid. Jeff knowing where it is was all he needed.</p>
<p>Their only problem had been that the boy isn’t as used to hiking as Tommy himself. Getting to the clearing filled with thimbleberries had been enough to tire him out at first. But with each meeting, Tommy had taken them on a mini hike, and the boy had soon gotten fitter. Today, it was time to show him the way. Their pace is a much slower one than the kid would usually take while solo, so they won’t have much time once they arrive. Not that Tommy lets this dishearten him – he gets to spend time with Jeff regardless.</p>
<p>It’s unusual hearing such loud footsteps crunching through the undergrowth. Tommy can be pretty quiet, though not so much as Pa. But Jeff? It’s like he’s purposefully seeking out every single fallen branch, determined to use their harsh snap to scare away any birds, not wanting their song to compete with his own.</p>
<p>“<em>When there was a wilderness, we wandered wild and free.</em>”</p>
<p>Not that he has anything to worry about. Should anyone ask Tommy, that competition would have a clear winner.</p>
<p>“<em>Guilt, she is the Governess that guides me back to grieve.</em>”</p>
<p>At least he won’t have to worry about them stumbling across a bear or something. The boy’s beautiful lilt is telegraphing their location to the entire forest!</p>
<p>“<em>What if we were dumb enough to spend eternity,</em>”</p>
<p>But it does suggest that he could pick up the pace a little. The best speed is one where you can talk but not sing, after all.</p>
<p>“<em>Gathering the garbage washed up on–</em> <sup>[4]</sup> Holy shit! Are those antlers?”</p>
<p>Tommy had been wondering how observant of their surroundings his boyfriend is. They’ve passed by quite a few sets already today. Still, better late than never.</p>
<p>“Forest is full of ‘em. Never seen ‘em before?”</p>
<p>“Well, duh, ‘course I have. Just not, y’know, layin’ around. Shed hunters snatch up all the ones near town.”</p>
<p>“…You want it?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but what am I gonna with it? Put it on my desk? Bit big for that.”</p>
<p>Sharing a grin, the boys trek on, though Tommy doesn’t miss how Jeff eyes up his rifle again. He’d been wary the first time he’d seen the kid carrying it but had dismissed it with a playful whistle and a wiggle of his eyebrows, saying how it makes Tommy look dangerous in a ‘good way’. The kid hadn’t fully understood what he’d meant, but he didn’t ask. He doesn’t bring it up now, either, instead just picking up the pace. Thanks to this, it doesn’t take them too much longer to reach their destination.</p>
<p>It’s a peaceful place. One that the kid found early last summer. When his head gets too busy or his body gets too restless, this is where he comes. Pa doesn’t mind him wandering so long as he knows Tommy is staying safe. In return, the kid usually brings them back some fish. Since he’d spent so much time here, the kid had built a makeshift shelter, just big enough for one. Nothing worse than getting caught in the rain so far from camp. Though, now that Jeff’s been invited into his little slice of paradise, maybe they could work together to expand the shelter. Make it big enough for two.</p>
<p>The creek it overlooks is beautiful, its clear waters babbling along a rocky riverbed. Trees stretch out above the bank, all lush and green, their leaves a welcome protection from the harsh sun that had threatened to catch on his skin last summer. As Tommy breaks through the treeline and steps onto the bank of the creek, he takes a deep breath, taking in the fresh scent of long grass and wildflowers.</p>
<p>He can’t miss the heavy footsteps as Jeff takes his place at Tommy’s side.</p>
<p>“A crick?” Those warm brown eyes are wide with shock, the usually mouthy boy taking some time to find his words. “The fuck, dude? Lived in this shitty town my whole life and never knew there was a fuckin’ <em>crick</em> here!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Pa frowns, shaking his head at the antlers. “Sorry, son. No good. Got a fracture running right through it.”</p>
<p>That… isn’t what Tommy had been hoping to hear. Jeff had made sure to inspect the antlers more closely on their trek back to the thimbleberry clearing. Sure, he’d said that it was too big for him keep, but Tommy had a plan. He’s been practicing his carving and he wants to use them to make something. A little gift for his boyfriend.</p>
<p>After escorting Jeff back to their meeting place, the kid had set himself a punishing pace, ensuring he’d be able to grab the antlers and make it back to camp before evening.</p>
<p>So, for Pa to say it’s no good…</p>
<p>The man frowns at him, taking in his son’s deflating posture.</p>
<p>“Well, we’re not likely to sell anything made from it. Doesn’t mean it’s useless. Can cut it up into bits. Use it for practice or make small pendants.” He shifts his grip, lifting one hand away to ruffle the kid’s hair. “How about you keep this one? Kinda excited to see what you’ll make.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh my God! Can’t believe I used to like that shit!”</p>
<p>The boy’s voice slices through the air, disturbing the tranquillity of Tommy’s crick. Not that the kid minds. He likes listening to his boyfriend rant and rave. They’re sitting on the bank while taking a break from working on the shelter, grass and wildflowers swaying in the early summer breeze. Both boys have their boots off, wearing matching rainbow stripe socks. It was a small gift, and one Tommy was able to accept. It’s not like Pa is gonna be able to see them. Jeff had picked them up while on a trip with school, buying himself a scarf of soft blue silk on the same day.</p>
<p>“Seriously, dude. I’m glad Mr Defur planned that trip to the city. My da didn’t wanna sign off on it at first, saying that opera is for women and– Well, he was an ass about it. But once I said my chance at a scholarship could be affected if I didn’t go, he signed that shit in a heartbeat!”</p>
<p>Tommy glances up from the clear plastic padlock he’s trying to pick to see Jeff pull out his phone.</p>
<p>“There’s this character, Mimi. She sings this song and, well, she kinda reminds me of you.”</p>
<p>Tapping away, it’s not long before a swell of music <sup>[5]</sup> pours forth, a woman’s voice soon following. As beautiful as she sounds, the kid cannot understand a single word.</p>
<p>“Me? Why?”</p>
<p>Jeff frowns, reaching into the lockpick set and selecting another tool, holding it out for Tommy. “Here. Try this one.”</p>
<p>The kid takes it. But he doesn’t let Jeff change the subject so easily.</p>
<p>“Why Mimi?”</p>
<p>At this, the boy stares out over the water, pretending that his ears aren’t glowing red. “Cuz she’s sweet, y’know? Mr Defur calls her the ‘emotional core’. And, well, she likes flowers…”</p>
<p>It’s sweet, knowing that Jeff thinks about him as much as Tommy does about his boyfriend. It makes the kid feel loved despite them not getting much time together.</p>
<p>Knowing that Jeff will start up again once he’s over his embarrassment, Tommy turns his attentions back to the practice lock. When the kid had mentioned his pa’s lockbox, he’d been told that they’d figure something out. But picking the lock? It’s hard and needs a delicate touch, just like carving. He’s not sure he’ll ever get the hang of it. And Jeff makes it look so easy…</p>
<p>“I’d known that ‘Rent’ was based on ‘La Bohème’ but now that I’ve actually <em>seen</em> the original? Fuck, that musical is a piece of shit!”</p>
<p>A smile tugs at Tommy’s lips. His boyfriend’s ranting always warms his heart even if he doesn’t understand a word of it. It’s just… Seeing him so passionate about something is captivating, no matter the kid’s ignorance of the topic.</p>
<p>Their lazy afternoon draws on, the waters babbling along, a soothing chorus to his boyfriend’s energetic melody. Not that the boy can stick to one topic for long.</p>
<p>“You ever swim?”</p>
<p>Tommy twists the pick, feeling a tumbler shift. “Sometimes.”</p>
<p>“Cool, cool.”</p>
<p>It feels like something inside the lock is sticking. Maybe adding some more pressure would–</p>
<p>“You ever swim naked?”</p>
<p>He starts, the pick snapping, sharp metal biting into his finger.</p>
<p>“Ah, shit. I’m sorry. Sorry.” Jeff is on him in an instant, yanking some tissue from his pack and squeezing it over the wound. “I didn’t mean to…”</p>
<p>“S’okay. Not deep. Will stop bleeding soon.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but still. I never wanna hurt ya, Tommy.”</p>
<p>Jeff lifts the kid’s hand, pressing a soft kiss to the makeshift bandage.</p>
<p>Then, glancing up, he grins.</p>
<p>“But seriously, fuck ‘Rent’!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Been thinking about our move. We’ve usually packed up camp before midsummer.”</p>
<p>At Pa’s words, Tommy’s stomach drops. He’d known that this was coming. Had been dreading it. But it’s not like he can tell Pa this. He’d ask him why…</p>
<p>Eyeing up his son, the man sighs. “You really like it here, don’t you?”</p>
<p>Unable to trust his voice to hold steady, the kid only nods.</p>
<p>“Not like you to get so attached. Usually keep your distance.” Pa shifts his head, forcing his son to meet his eye. “You aren’t going into town without me, are you?”</p>
<p>Tommy licks his lips, trying his hardest to not break eye contact. “No, Pa.”</p>
<p>“Are you lying? If you are, this is your one chance to come clean. No punishment.”</p>
<p>“No. M’not lying. Wouldn’t lie to you.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t raise a liar. Promise you’ll always tell the truth, no matter how much you want to hide it. No matter how much you think it’ll hurt.”</p>
<p>The man’s gaze. He doesn’t want to hold it. Doesn’t want to see his pa’s hopeful, expectant expression. Doesn’t want to look into the eyes of the one person who had sacrificed so much to keep him safe and make a promise he knows he’ll only be keeping on a technicality.</p>
<p>But he doesn’t look away.</p>
<p>He holds the gaze steady.</p>
<p>“I promise.”</p>
<p>“Good. Knew I could trust you, son. Knew you’d make your mother proud.”</p>
<p>Finally breaking off their gaze, Pa turns back to the fire, lighting a cigarette in its flame.</p>
<p>“Can see why you’d get attached, though. It’s a nice town. Quiet. Good people.”</p>
<p>Taking a drag, Pa slowly exhales the smoke before glancing back at his son.</p>
<p>“If it’ll make you happy, I’m sure we can stay here for one more year.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>###</strong>
</p>
<p>Today’s music is… different.</p>
<p>It’s harsh; it’s loud; it hurts Tommy’s ears.</p>
<p>But it doesn’t hurt as much as seeing Jeff’s face.</p>
<p>“I hate the bastard! I fuckin’ hate him! Wish he’d just die already! Fuck knows he drinks enough!”</p>
<p>The boy is pacing back and forth, worn boots carving a slice across the bank. Fists clench hard, leaving his knuckles white. Mouth contorts with a harsh snarl, reopening a split lip. Face flushes red with enough anger to almost obscure the bruises.</p>
<p>“Knew what to do. Fuck knows I’ve lived with this shit long enough. When he’s drinkin’, I gotta get the fuck outta there before he starts swingin’. And if I can’t, I gotta sit down and shut up. I know this. I know! But I didn’t. <em>Couldn’t</em>! Not once he asked that! ‘<em>You a fuckin’ fag</em>?’”</p>
<p>Jeff stops his aimless pacing, instead taking a step towards the kid. Then a second. A third.</p>
<p>“Ya wanna know what I did, Tommy? Wanna know what I <em>said</em>?”</p>
<p>His face twists, the snarl warping into a grin more grotesque than what it’s replacing. And those eyes. Those beautiful, warm brown eyes. They’re filled with desperation.</p>
<p>“I looked that bastard right in the eye and told him the truth. I said ‘<em>no, da, I ain’t. But my boyfriend is.</em>’”</p>
<p>Tommy’s never been good with words. He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know what to <em>do</em>.</p>
<p>“And ya know what, Tommy? This shit right here?” Jeff lifts a hand, finger jabbing harshly into a bruised cheek bone. “To see that disgust on the old bastard’s face? Totally fuckin’ worth it!”</p>
<p>But he can’t do nothing. He can’t watch this beautiful boy – this boy he <em>loves</em> – break down like this. With little else he can do, Tommy steps forward. He wraps his arms around him. He guides them down into the grass, cradling that head of curls against his chest.</p>
<p>“Why couldn’t I have a better da, huh? One that’d love me. One like yours…”</p>
<p>“S’okay, Jeff. Just us here. Can let it out.”</p>
<p>And let it out the boy does. Fingers grip harshly into Tommy’s shirt as a wail is smothered by his chest.</p>
<p>The kid just holds him as he cries, a strange sensation drifting through him. It starts in his side, low on his ribs. From there, it sinks down, a cold tingle working its way deeper before trickling up his spine. Once it reaches the base of his skull, his quietly broiling anger freezes over, thoughts turning to ice. And then, his teeth start to itch.</p>
<p>This beautiful boy in his arms means everything to Tommy. That’s why he doesn’t fight this. That’s why he lets it wash over him. Lets it hint at taking control. It’s probably a good thing that he doesn’t know what Jeff’s father looks like. Doesn’t know where to find him. Because anyone who would hurt this boy? Anyone who raise their fists against him? They’re barely fit to call themselves human.</p>
<p>They’re a Monster.</p>
<p>Once his tears have long ran dry, Jeff slides from Tommy’s embrace, falling to lay in the grass and tugging the kid down with him.</p>
<p>“Y’know, I’m startin’ to think Gene Roddenberry got it right. With ‘Star Trek’?”</p>
<p>At his questioning glance, Tommy just shrugs.</p>
<p>“Well, it’s set in space. The future. A perfect society. But ya know how we got there? A fuckin’ nuclear holocaust! Yeah, that’s right. The only way Roddenberry could see humans working together was for millions to die first, leaving the survivors no choice. If they didn’t put it all aside – all that racism, that homophobia, that <em>hate</em>! – they’d all die, too. Then, poof! There goes the human race.” He turns to Tommy, a sad smile lifting his lips. “The more I think about it, the more I think he got it right. Just… If he did, and if the world does have to end, swear to me one thing. Don’t be an asshole. Be one of those who help.”</p>
<p>Laying here on their sides, noses mere inches apart as they share a single breath, Tommy would promise this boy the world.</p>
<p>“I swear.”</p>
<p>“Good. Good…”</p>
<p>Then, the kid sees it. A spark of amusement, one so small that it could easily be overlooked, starts to once more dance in eyes of warmest brown.</p>
<p>“Oh, and <em>please</em> don’t wear red.”</p>
<p>
  <strong>###</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s done it. He’s finally done it!</p>
<p>After hearing that satisfying click, the one that has been eluding him for weeks, Tommy lets a grin spread across his face as he pulls the pick out of the lock.</p>
<p>He’s alone in the cabin, Pa having taken the truck a valley over after hearing rumours of elk. It’s not exactly the season for it but their coffers are running dry and they need wares to sell. Pa never hunts more than they need. Knowing that this is an opportunity to have another go at this lockbox, the kid made his excuses to stay.</p>
<p>Shoving the picks back into their pouch, he takes a deep breath before lifting the lid.</p>
<p>The first thing he sees is a gun. Years of training being etched into memory make him unable to look at anything else, not until the weapon has been secured. Lifting it gently, he slides out the mag and finding it empty before checking the barrel is clear. Then, he turns it over, testing its weight. Browning, 9mm. It’s in good condition, a solid pistol that feels heavy in his hands. But it’s not what he’s here for.</p>
<p>Clicking the empty mag back in and placing the Browning down on the table, Tommy turns back to the lock box. Inside are some papers and newspaper clippings. Great. Reading. With a sigh, the kid shuffles though them, hoping that he won’t have to stare down at all these little words. And it seems he’s in luck. Right at the bottom of the box under this mound of paper is a badge.</p>
<p>He lifts it up, bringing it closer to the lamp. It’s a shield, gold in colour, an eagle perched on the top. In the centre is a circle depicting a bison in a field, a mountain range and sunset behind it. There’s also writing. And this badge intrigues him enough to try and decipher it’s meaning.</p>
<p>He holds it to the light, squinting down at the words.</p>
<p>‘<em>Department of the Interior. National Park Service.</em>’</p>
<p>Licking at his lips, he focuses on the larger writing below.</p>
<p>‘<em>Park Ranger.</em>’</p>
<p>Before the kid has time to process this; before he has chance to start rifling through the papers in an attempt to make sense of what he’d read, his ears prick up.</p>
<p>An engine.</p>
<p>Pa’s back.</p>
<p>Shoving the badge back to the bottom of the box, he glances over the Browning before placing it gently on top and snapping the lid shut.</p>
<p>The lockbox is rehidden before Pa parks the truck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Although Tommy’s grip remains firm on the fishing rod, his attentions are more focused on the boy encircled by his arms. He’d known that teaching Jeff to fish would be fun, but he’d never have expected it to be this… intimate. They’re standing barefoot in the shallows, their boots and socks discarded outside their shelter. Tommy’s behind the taller boy and just able to see over his shoulder. He doesn’t strain himself, though, perfectly content to nuzzle into Jeff’s back, enjoying the gentle rumble as the boy sings.</p>
<p>“<em>I don’t believe in cops, bosses, or politicians.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Some might call that anarchism.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I call it having a fucking heart that beats.”</em>
</p>
<p>The fabric of Jeff’s jacket is coarse, a stark contrast to that of the new backpiece he’d asked Tommy to help sew on. It’s off-white in colour, the design a scratchy black. On it is a broken and decaying car, metal rusted and windows shattered. And it’s surrounded by life! Though the vehicle has long since broken down, it’s being slowly swallowed up by tall grass and wildflowers, reclaimed by nature. Above the picture is writing, it’s letters rough and unevenly spaced. Tommy didn’t even hesitate at reading them, the effort more than worth it should they be important to his boyfriend. And he liked what he read: ‘no system but the ecosystem.’</p>
<p>
  <em>“I do believe in freedom and never giving up.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Call my methods madness or call them luck.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I do what I got to, to feel able to breath.”</em>
</p>
<p>As Jeff shifts his grip, so too does Tommy, the kid finding it easier to move, now resting by his other shoulder. Here, his face presses up against a patch. This one features a skull, feline in appearance, though whether it’s meant to be a house cat or a larger, wild one, he’s unsure. The text on this patch he hadn’t needed to read, Jeff having presented it with a flourish and stating the meaning with a grin: ‘no gods, no masters.’</p>
<p>Jeff had said that he’d chosen these two pieces for his jacket as they reminded him of Tommy.</p>
<p>The kid had pressed a little kiss to each patch before he’d sewn them on.</p>
<p><em>“And if you quit your job</em>–”</p>
<p>The singing cuts off, Jeff’s shoulders shaking with laughter. He loosens his grip on the fishing rod, trusting Tommy to keep hold. Then, he turns in the kids arms to grin down at him.</p>
<p>“A tree cop.”</p>
<p>“S-shut up…”</p>
<p>“Your da was a fuckin’ <em>tree cop</em>!”</p>
<p>The kid breaks eye contact, choosing to glare down at their feet, lips threatening to pout.</p>
<p>“Oh, come on, Tommy. I said ‘was’, not ‘is’. At least we know he ain’t a bastard, huh?”</p>
<p>At this, Tommy can’t help but to smile, glancing back up at his boyfriend.</p>
<p>“Seriously, though. Ya gotta get back into that box. See what else ya can find. Wanna know what happened to make him go on the run more than ever, now!”</p>
<p>The kid tenses. “I– I never said that…”</p>
<p>Jeff just stares down at him, clearly unimpressed. “Tommy. You live in the woods.”</p>
<p>And, well, he can’t really argue with that, can he?</p>
<p>“Look, either your da is some crazy prepper or he’s on the run. You’re too well adjusted for the first one, and of all the places to go he chose here. Last best hiding place and all that shit.”</p>
<p>“You… don’t think it’s weird?”</p>
<p>Jeff’s smile is so beautiful, his brown eyes warmer than usual. “What if I like weird?”</p>
<p>Keeping a grip on his fishing rod, Tommy lets his head thump down onto Jeff’s chest. “Thanks. For understanding.”</p>
<p>“No need ta thank me. Think about it. You’re my pretty boy outlaw. How cool is that‽ Makes you sound <em>dangerous</em>.” The boy’s head drops, lips pressing kisses to messy black hair. “And I like dangerous…”</p>
<p>As Tommy lets loose a short snort of laughter, Jeff starts to sway them side to side, voice once more lifting in song.</p>
<p>
  <em>“A punk rock song won’t ever change the world</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>But I can tell you about a couple that changed me.” <sup>[6]</sup></em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>“Ya can’t keep doin’ this, kiddo. When ya start to feel sick, tell your dad. Let him take care of ya. It’s what dads are for, yeah?”</p>
<p>Tommy shivers, eyes closed, his bedroll wet through with sweat. Uncle Jacque slicks the kid’s hair back before pressing a damp cloth to his flushed face.</p>
<p>“I know ya like wanderin’ but ya need to take it easy now and then. Let ya body rest and recover. It’s not a weakness, y’know? Everyone gets sick. Especially now…”</p>
<p>The cloth is cool, a welcome respite from yet another fever. A fever that brings aches and shivers and dreams. Dreams of rage, cold and bitter; of blood, hot and sweet.</p>
<p>“There’s somethin’ wrong. Somethin’ big. They won’t tell me what, just that it’s comin’. That people are gettin’ sick. And I’m worried ‘bout ya.”</p>
<p>The man shifts slightly, ruffling through what sounds like his jacket pocket. Tommy doesn’t open his eyes to check, the fever having sapped him of his strength. He’s actually surprised he’s still awake.</p>
<p>“I just need to know, kiddo. Know that this isn’t– …That you’ll be okay. Harry doesn’t like doctors, but he’s wrong. They’re ain’t bad people. They’re tryin’ ta help. And I wanna them help you, too. To make sure you’ll be okay. All I’ll need is some spit, yeah? To make sure you’re safe. If ya do this for me, I’ll tell ya ‘bout Chelsea.”</p>
<p>“M-ma…?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, your mom. I’ll tell ya all about her as ya rest. Maybe then you’ll dream of her. And don’t worry. Harry don’t have to know.”</p>
<p>“O-okay…”</p>
<p>“Yeah? You’ll do it?”</p>
<p>Tommy nods, shifting to rise, but a large hand gently urges him back down.</p>
<p>“Just lay on your side. It’ll be easier for ya.”</p>
<p>After doing as instructed, the kid feels the pressing of cool glass at the corner of his mouth.</p>
<p>“Just drool a bit. I’ll catch it.”</p>
<p>Once the spit had been collected, Uncle Jacque helps roll Tommy back over, running a hand soothingly through damp hair.</p>
<p>“Time for my end of the bargain, then, huh? Where to begin… She was beautiful, Chelsea. All black hair and pale skin, just like you. And she was smart. <em>Too</em> smart. Always had her nose in a textbook or hands clackin’ away on her computer. Never let the facts and figures harden her, though. Said that people were more important than numbers.”</p>
<p>Uncle Jacque’s voice grows fuzzy, Tommy’s consciousness fading as sleep claims him once more.</p>
<p>“She’d hate to see you livin’ like this. Like a damn stray cat. Your dad… I may respect Harry as a man, but not as a father…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fifteen.” Pa smiles over at him, pride shining in his eyes. “Seems like just yesterday you were a little bundle wriggling in my arms. Now look at you.”</p>
<p>Tommy finishes up tightlacing his boots, an embarrassed smile twitching at his lips as he reaches for his pack.</p>
<p>“Suppose you’ll be off hiking all day, then. Good thing I picked up a little something to give you energy on the trail.”</p>
<p>With a grin, Pa produces a packet of Oreos. No. Even better. Double Stuff Oreos. As Tommy slips his pack onto his back, Pa tugs a zip open and stuffs the cookies in. Ready, the kid grabs his rifle and heads for the edge of camp.</p>
<p>“Tommy. You’ll be back by seventeen hundred, right? For your birthday pizza?”</p>
<p>“’Course I will, Pa.”</p>
<p>The kid is both anxious and excited for that pizza.</p>
<p>“Great. Well, don’t let me keep you. Go have your fun.”</p>
<p>Because this is it. Today is the day that Tommy’s whole life will change. Tonight, while eating that pizza, he’s going to tell Pa everything.</p>
<p> “Oh, and remember that I love you, Tommy. And I always will.”</p>
<p>Everything that he’s been hiding.</p>
<p>Everything about who he really is.</p>
<p>But most importantly, everything about Jeff.</p>
<p>“Love you too, Pa.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sun is shining down, warm as it dries the last of the water from his skin. Tommy is laying on the bank, the familiar scent of grass and wildflowers tickling away at his nose. But it doesn’t tickle as much as Jeff’s marker pen.</p>
<p>After arriving at the crick, they’d decided to take advantage of the summer heat. Stripping down to their underwear, they’d ran laughing and shouting into the river. It worked well to cool them off after their hike and, as it had been just the two of them, there was no awkwardness. No <em>shame</em>. Every shared glance; every shy smile; every searching kiss. It all felt natural and right. It felt <em>freeing</em>.</p>
<p>They’d soon bored of playing in the clear waters, retreating to the bank to bathe in the warm sun and share some Oreos and milk. That’s where Tommy finds himself now, splayed out along the bank as Jeff sits close, humming along to the music and doodling on the kid’s skin. Tommy had okayed it if he sticks to places that could be easily covered by clothing. Of course, the boy had grinned, diving straight in to join the three dots on his side into a triangle. From there, the turquoise ink had flowed outwards, curved lines and swirls spreading up his side and across his chest. At first the intent of the design had escaped him, Tommy choosing to instead lay back and enjoy the sensation of the marker gliding over his skin. But curiosity’s call is soon too much to ignore and the kid’s eyes slide open to take another peek. And just like that, the kid feels a spark of recognition.</p>
<p>“Peacock feathers?”</p>
<p>“They look cool, right?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but… Why a peacock?”</p>
<p>Jeff responds with a snort before capping his pen and throwing it at his pack. “It’s literally my name, pretty boy.”</p>
<p>The kid’s brows pull down, confused. His boyfriend just smiles.</p>
<p>“Pavão. Means peacock. Suits me, don’t ya think?” Jeff smirks wider, lifting his arms up and trying to flex. He’s not as defined as Tommy, his muscles hidden under a thin layer of fat, but his skin is tanned from the summer sun, freckles now kissing across his shoulders. And it’s beautiful. <em>He’s</em> beautiful.</p>
<p>The kid lifts a hand, tugging at his boyfriend’s arm to pull him down into the grass. With a smile, Jeff obliges. Now laying together, Tommy rests his head on his boyfriend’s chest, enjoying the warmth and the gentle rise and fall of each breath. So, when those arms close around him, holding him tight, the kid can’t help but to sigh, content.</p>
<p>“S’a Good name. Peacock’s protect people.”</p>
<p>“Really?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Watch over them. All the eyes, y’know?”</p>
<p>“Huh.” Jeff’s sweet voice is laced with surprise. “Thought they were just vain. Always struttin’ round, shakin’ their tail feathers and all that.” A hand lifts, affectionately teasing at Tommy’s hair. “Guess my name would be better for you, then, pretty boy. You’d be good at protectin’ people. I mean, you’ve already helped me…”</p>
<p>Tommy finally lifts his head up. His boyfriend’s brown eyes are warm but… But his smile is sad. And the kid doesn’t like it. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he shifts closer before leaning in, determined to kiss away that sorrow. It doesn’t take long for Jeff to respond, pulling Tommy flush.</p>
<p>This kiss is different from all the others that had come before. It’s harder. Deeper. Needier. And Tommy doesn’t fight it. Not as Jeff turns them over, pressing him into the grass. Not as his boyfriend’s kisses start to wander, tracing down his jaw. And not as they briefly pause so words can be whispered against Tommy’s decorated skin.</p>
<p>“You’ll stop me if ya don’t want this, right…?”</p>
<p>No, Tommy doesn’t fight this.</p>
<p>Because he wants it, too.</p>
<p>Heart swelling with love, he smiles at his boyfriend.</p>
<p>“K-keep going… Please…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy’s laying in the grass, basking in the glow. And this time, it’s not just the sun.</p>
<p>“Sure you’re gonna be okay? I can walk ya home.”</p>
<p>A smile tugs at his lips, pale grey eyes fluttering open to gaze up at Jeff. His boyfriend is still frowning, uncertain if he should leave. Finally climbing to his feet to show he’s fine, Tommy does a twirl before loping over and leaning in for a quick kiss.</p>
<p>“M’fine. Sore, but a good sore.”</p>
<p>Returning his smile, Jeff’s warm brown eyes drift down. His hands reach up to tug at the kid’s shirt, fingers gently running over his collarbone. Over the marks he’s been horrified to realise he’d left peppered over pale skin.</p>
<p>“Still gonna tell ya da tonight? About us?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“Ya not wanna wait a few weeks? Cuz, uh, he might not be happy about these…”</p>
<p>The kid just shrugs. “Not like I have a sweater.”</p>
<p>A gentle frown washes over Jeff’s face as he considers his options. Then, without hesitation, he tugs the blue scarf from his neck. The silk is cool as it glides over Tommy’s shoulders, the kid staring in awe as his boyfriend securely tucks the ends away. It doesn’t take long for the scarf to have been expertly donned, the love bites safely out of sight.</p>
<p>“There. Try ta keep it on when you’re around him, yeah? Really wanna chance at makin’ a good first impression.”</p>
<p>“I will. And don’t worry. Think he’ll like you.”</p>
<p>“Here’s hopin’.” Running his fingers one last time over the silk, Jeff leans in for a quick, chaste kiss. “Gotta head back, but I’ll see ya in three days, right?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, three days.”</p>
<p>“Love ya, pretty boy.”</p>
<p>“Love you, too.”</p>
<p>And with that, the boy heads off, quickly disappearing into the treeline.</p>
<p>Pulling the scarf up, Tommy buries his face in the silk. A scent lingers on blue, one of light sweat and stale smoke. He doubts he’ll ever get sick of it. Once he’s sure he’s alone, the kid shuffles to his pack and once more sits in the long grass outside their shelter. He’s not in pain, just a little sore, but his muscles are strained and weak, leaving him unsteady on his feet. But that’s fine. He has an hour or so before he needs to start heading back. Before it’s time to tell Pa everything.</p>
<p>Needing something to keep his hands busy as he tries to calm his racing mind, Tommy reaches into his pack and pulls out a piece of antler. It’s flat and thin, though still a little too thick to be called a disk. A hairline fracture runs up the centre, curving gently to one side.</p>
<p>Unsheathing a knife, Tommy takes a deep breath to steady his nerves. Then, he starts to carve.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His boots pad softly over the undergrowth, the trees denser here than back at the crick or along one of the hiking trails. With each step, Tommy gets closer to camp. Closer to finally telling Pa. And after today, he knows that it’s right. That it’s normal. That <em>he</em> is normal. How could it be wrong when it had felt so right?</p>
<p>The kid’s last birthday had been more than he could ever have asked for, finally speaking to Jeff. And this one? His fifteenth? It had been even greater still! So great, in fact, that he’d even made plans with Jeff: if telling Pa tonight goes well, then he’ll guide his boyfriend to their camp. Jeff will get to meet Pa and share a meal before hopefully staying the night. His boyfriend had told him that he’s never properly camped out in the woods, so this will be a first for him. Tommy is gonna make sure that everything is perfect, excited to share such a tranquil way of life with the boy he loves. A night under the stars would be the perfect time to give the boy his gift, too. The one Tommy had carved this afternoon. A small pendant of a peacock feather threaded onto a thin strip of leather.</p>
<p>
  <em>Would Jeff like stargazing…?</em>
</p>
<p>Branches crack, a heavy set of footsteps scuffing the earth nearby.</p>
<p>He frowns. There shouldn’t be anyone out this far. The hunters and hikers usually stick to the trails closer to town. Peering through the trees, the kid spots a man stumbling towards him, his breaths a shallow groan.</p>
<p>Something is wrong. He can feel it in how the hairs at the base of his skull prickle.</p>
<p>And then, Tommy discovers why.</p>
<p>
  <em>Someone has shot this ranger full of arrows!</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The crackling fire had shone like a beacon, beckoning the kid to this man’s camp. When he’d seen the kid creep close, his clothes stained and bloody, the man had taken pity on him, waving at a spot near the flames. They both sat in silence, the man watching him from over the fire. The kid doesn’t bother to make eye contact, though, content to monitor him in his periphery while pretending to watch a log burn away.</p>
<p>Another can cracks open, the man taking a deep swig of beer. “Ya got a name, kid?”</p>
<p>He shakes his head, not looking up from the flames.</p>
<p>“No need to be so guarded. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”</p>
<p>This makes the kid lift his gaze, finally looking at the man.</p>
<p>“What ‘bout food? Water? Looks like you’re travelling light.”</p>
<p>Licking at chapped lips, he glances over at the man’s pack.  “Don’t have much to trade…”</p>
<p>At this, the man scoffs. “Ya just a kid, for Pete’s sake. Ain’t wantin’ anythin’. Here.” He reaches into his pack and pulls out a water bottle, holding it up for the kid to take.</p>
<p>He hesitates, but not for long. Scooting closer, the kid snatches the bottle from his grip, unscrewing the lid and taking a big gulp. The water is cool and soothing as it wets his parched mouth. But once it hits his throat, the muscles spasm painfully, and the kid chokes.</p>
<p>The man lets loose a bark of laughter, the alcohol evidently lifting his spirits. “Easy there, kid. No need to rush. Ain’t gonna take it from ya.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t respond, instead placing the bottle down to shift closer to the fire. The midsummer night air is warm but if he wants to dry off Jeff’s scarf, he’ll need more heat. Tugging at the soft silk, the kid loosens the scarf, smoothing out some of the folds to aid it in drying faster.</p>
<p>“The fuck…?” Thick fingers sink into silk, tearing the scarf from his neck.</p>
<p>The kid startles, jerking away and scrambling to his feet, desperately putting some distance between them. He stares as the man twists Jeff’s scarf in his dirty hands, creasing the silk. <em>Soiling</em> in. Then, after the man has had time to take in the kid’s unobscured skin, he shakes his head in disgust.</p>
<p>“Not much to trade, huh? What did they pay for ya? More than just a bottle of water, I’m guessin’.”</p>
<p>The last few weeks have been hell. First, the newly dead refused to stay down, instead rising once more to kill the still living. Next, Pa had gotten bitten and died in front of him, leaving one of those things behind. Then, he’d gone searching for Jeff only to find…</p>
<p>He found…</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>No, he’s not gonna think about this. Not now. Not ever. He wants his last memories to be of a lazy summer day. Of long grass and wildflowers. Of love and a promise to meet again. A memory that this man is trying to taint, mocking one of the few things he has left that prove Jeff had lived. That the beautiful, vibrant boy had loved him. That they had loved <em>each other</em>. This man is trying to destroy the physical proof of what they shared. Proof that will soon fade from his skin. Be lost forever. And all while he’s holding Jeff’s scarf. No one gets to touch that scarf. No one! And especially not this…</p>
<p>This…</p>
<p>This <em>Monster</em>.</p>
<p>Then, the kid feels it. Anger. The one from all that has happened and all he’s lost; the one that has been quietly simmering away and threatening to boil over. Feels it flow down his every nerve, burning through his mind, leaving his thoughts charred and empty. And then it cools, its icy tendrils freezing his heart and making his teeth itch. Because it’s finally happened. He’s found an outlet for all this desperate, incompetent rage.</p>
<p>
  <em>Gonna make this Monster pay. For everything.</em>
</p>
<p>But this ‘man’ is bigger than him; stronger than him. That means the kid’s gotta fight smart. Make him drop his guard. Use this false assumption against him.</p>
<p>The ‘man’ lifts a hand, Jeff’s scarf hanging from his fingers. “Here, kid. Just take it. Put it back on. Didn’t mean to scare ya.”</p>
<p>Tilting his head slightly, the kid’s eyebrows crease over wide grey eyes. Then, he slowly steps towards the ‘man’, lifting a hand of his own. Fingers ghosting over blue silk, the kid’s hand instead comes to a rest over the fist defiling Jeff’s scarf.</p>
<p>With a snort of laughter, the ‘man’ shakes his head. “Don’t care what ya sellin’, kid. I ain’t buyin’.”</p>
<p>The kid steps closer again, now almost toe to toe with the ‘man’. His raised hand teases at the ‘man’s’ fingers, letting the silk scarf drift to the ground. Those precious memories don’t need to witness what’s about to come. His other hand tugs at the hem of his shirt, exposing the skin on his lower abdomen. Not once breaking eye contact, he urges the ‘man’s’ hand down, pressing it flush against his waist.</p>
<p>With a chuckle, his prey leans in, the bitter reek of beer-stained breath making the kid’s stomach churn. Not that he lets it show on his face.</p>
<p>“A little forward, huh, kid? No wonder ya found a buyer.”</p>
<p>So focused on running his filthy, disgusting hands over the kid’s skin, his prey doesn’t pay any attention to the one lifting up towards his waist. Towards the knife sheathed on the ‘man’s’ belt.</p>
<p>“Can see why they would fall for it though. Gets lonely out here.”</p>
<p>The kid’s fingers trace along the leather, gently easing the knife out before unfurling the blade.</p>
<p>“Your skin. It’s so soft, so smooth. Just like a girl. But I ain’t–”</p>
<p>He slashes out, scoring across a flabby abdomen.</p>
<p>Unleashing a cry of shock and pain and drunken rage, the ‘man’ thrusts a fist into the kid’s face, the nose breaking with a sickening crunch. The ‘man’s’ other hand snatches at his wrist, twisting it until the kid’s grip loosens. With his knife now reclaimed, he flicks his hand out. Not able to back away in time, the kid raises his arms defensively, the blade slicing across his skin again–</p>
<p>“Ya stupid little shit!”</p>
<p>–and again–</p>
<p>“The hell ya do that for‽”</p>
<p>–and again.</p>
<p>“This ain’t a fuckin’ game!”</p>
<p>As he tries to get away, the kid stumbles, crashing to the dirt. The anger clouding his judgement now fading, the ‘man’ turns his head in disgust, flinging the knife to the ground.</p>
<p>“Grab ya shit and fuck off. Shoulda known better than to help a whore.”</p>
<p>And that’s what he should do, right? He should collect his things and slip away into the night. Should flee from the fight as soon as he’s able. It’s what Pa had taught him, after all. But as the kid pokes at his nose, the blood dripping passed his lips, all cloying and sweet, he instead grits his itching teeth. Pushes himself to his feet. Takes just enough steps forward.</p>
<p>Then, he speaks.</p>
<p>“Your family…”</p>
<p>His prey, still thinking he’s human, turns to face the kid, a frown tugging at his lips. “…What about them?”</p>
<p>“Where are they?”</p>
<p>“Don’t know when to stop, do ya, kid?”</p>
<p>“They dead?”</p>
<p>This ‘man’; this Monster. As soon as it takes the bait, as soon as it steps forward, it’s already lost. Not that it’d know that. Not until it’s too late, anyway. Because it’s underestimating the kid. Just like Pa said it would.</p>
<p>But the kid is tired of being weak.</p>
<p>Tired of being defenceless.</p>
<p>Tired of always <em>running away</em>.</p>
<p>A bitter smirk twitches at his lips, twisting his face into a grotesque mockery of the boy Tommy once was.</p>
<p>“Your fault, right? Couldn’t protect them. Failed them when they needed you. Died cuz you’re <em>weak</em>.”</p>
<p>With a snarl, the Monster lunges; its fist swings towards the kid once again.</p>
<p>And this time, he’s ready.</p>
<p>The kid drops into a familiar stance, one years of practice has seared into the very fibre of his being. Then, he dodges, going back and down. His fingers reach out, grazing along the dirt as they scoop up the bloody white knife. His prey hadn’t expected its attack to miss, throwing it off balance, just like Pa had said. And the kid makes his move, not wasting his one opportunity. He thrusts his clenched fist just below the Monster’s ribs, aiming six inches deep as if to punch through its diaphragm.</p>
<p>As flesh gives way, the only sound is the wet, squeaky pop that bubbles up the Monster’s throat as the blade punctures its lung.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It had taken a while for it to die. The stabbing had been more physically demanding than the kid had realised it would, even though his prey went down hard and fast with little in the way of resistance.</p>
<p>Cutting off the fishing line, the kid glances over his neat stiches before twisting open a jar to daub on some honey. No point in treating his wounds if he’s going to let them get infected and fester. His forearms had been shredded, the deepest of the wounds almost exposing the bone. Sewing them up had been painful but necessary. He might as well just get used to it, though: these are likely to be the first of many. That thought doesn’t bother him too much. Just like a deer with calcified ribs, these wounds are simply the embodiment of his desire to keep living.</p>
<p>Once his bandages are securely in place, he shuffles passed the dead Z, the chipped white knife still lodged in its head. How many does this make now? It had been twenty-four before. Does it count as a whole Z if he’s the one who had made it? Should he only count it as a half? Guess that makes it kill number twenty-four and a half, then.</p>
<p>Turning his back to it, he scoops up Jeff’s scarf, brushing the dirt from soft blue silk. Bunching it up, he cradles it against his tender face, trying to inhale his boyfriend’s lingering scent. But his nose is swollen, no smell getting through.</p>
<p>Defeated, he drops down by the fire, once more staring into the crackling flames. Tonight had been close. Too close. It could have been the kid who had died instead of that Monster. He’s never fought before outside of Pa’s practice bouts and fooling around with Jeff. But if he wants to live, he’s going to have to learn how, and learn fast.</p>
<p>Monsters are dangerous, as are the humans they still think they belong with, so for now he should focus on something easier. Something like the Zs. If he can master taking them down, then he’ll have no trouble with the other new prey that this ending world has provided.</p>
<p>How long had Jeff said it takes to master something, again? Ten thousand hours, right? Maybe if the kid manages to kill ten thousand Zs then he’ll have gotten strong enough for a repeat of tonight to never happen. Strong enough to never fail those he loves again.</p>
<p>He tilts his head, running soft silk over cracked lips as he takes in the stars. Stars that his father had shared with him since he was a baby. Stars that he never got to share with Jeff. Pale grey eyes slide over the constellations, finally settling on Cygnus, the swan who fathered the twins of Gemini.</p>
<p>The kid wants to live, and to live he needs to be strong. Strong enough that nothing can ever hurt him again.</p>
<p>His lips twitch, a silent promise made to the stars watching from above.</p>
<p>He <em>will</em> kill ten thousand zombies, no matter what it costs him or what he must become.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And with this, the flashback is over. There will be one more chapter to end this part, and I promise you that it's happier than this one.</p>
<p>As always, I'd love to hear what you think.</p>
<p>Until next time, take care.</p>
<p>&lt;3</p>
<p>Jeff's songs this chapter:<br/>[4] <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YvIuswQc1XY">The Governess - METRIC</a><br/>[5] <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yTagFD_pkNo">Si. Mi chiamano Mimi - Puccini's La Bohème</a><br/>[6] <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b6Om1UgIk9M">Fuck Shit Up - Wingnut Dishwashers Union</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which the gang enjoy a meal.</p>
<p>Then, 10k talks about the hunt.</p>
<p>Finally, Murphy enjoys the night sky.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Warren would be lying if she said that she wasn’t surprised that Murphy had <em>actually</em> come back.</p>
<p>That man isn’t exactly the most enthused by his role in her Mission, so she’d half expected him to take this chance to turn tail and run. Lord knows he’s shown enough cowardice. With the rest of them at the mercy of that damn tsunami of Zs, there was no one who could stop that bastard from making a break for it. So, yeah. Surprised. Because not only had he came to the morgue just in time to save Warren from a drooling Z, but he’d even succeeded where she herself had failed. He’d somehow scavenged up some food and water.</p>
<p>Sitting here right now, glancing around their makeshift table in the middle of a funeral home and taking in her team as they eagerly eat and drink, she realises something. This right here – this little slice of peace; of happiness; of normalcy. None of it would have been possible without Murphy. Maybe she’s been reading him wrong. Maybe he isn’t as bad as he’s made himself seem. Maybe she should even ease up on him a bit.</p>
<p>And maybe Murphy isn’t the only one she’s been going too hard on.</p>
<p>Her eyes drift over to 10k, the kid sneaking another quick glance at the bag Murphy had strolled in with. It’s this spikey pink monstrosity from which he’d smugly produced snack after snack. A smile twitches at Warren’s lips. She can’t blame Ten for being wary of that bag. It’s fucking hideous!</p>
<p>“Murphy, how did you do this?” Chucking another handful of trail mix into his mouth, Doc stares in awe at their feast. “No, I don’t even want to know.” Reaching over, he claps the kid at his side on the shoulder. “Hell, I take back everything 10k said about you!”</p>
<p>At this, the kid’s head shoots up, eyes wide with shock. “Wha…? I- I didn’t–”</p>
<p>And Murphy just smirks. “Relax, Princess. If it’s been taken back, then you get to say it all again. I’m sure I won’t mind listening.”</p>
<p>“Oh, please.” Cassandra’s face lights up, amusement dancing through her dark eyes. “The last thing we need is to be stuck listening as Ten strokes your ego.”</p>
<p>The man’s smirk only grows. “You’re just jealous it’s not you he’s showering with praise. And from a guy who speaks as little as he does, every single word is worth that much more.” Then, his brows raised, Murphy turns an expectant look towards the kid.</p>
<p>Ten obliges.</p>
<p>“Anyone else would be dead. So would Warren if you weren’t here to save her.” He turns to the woman in question with a shrug. “No offence, but you were almost dead. But Murphy, man, you are <em>unreal</em>!” A peel of laughter, all musical and sweet, escapes passed the kid’s dry lips as he faces the man once more. “Where did you go? Did none of them notice you? Would be handy, not being seen. Prey not knowing ‘til it’s too late. It’d be cool. <em>You’re</em> cool.”</p>
<p>With a lopsided grin, Ten lifts a hand, seeking a high five. His own smirk smoothing over into a warm smile, Murphy’s hand hovers low over the table.</p>
<p>“Down low, down low.” The kid rises from his seat to meet him in the middle, the man’s larger hand grasping his affectionately for a moment before letting go. “There you go.”</p>
<p>Retaking his spot next to Doc, Ten’s hands drop to the table before the kid glances over and notices the old guy’s dumbfounded expression. “…W- what?”</p>
<p>“That’s the most words I ever heard come out of your sound hole, kid.”</p>
<p>Seeing 10k flick the old guy a small, sheepish smile, Cassandra comes charging to her friend’s aid. Snatching an open packet of Goldfish crackers from the table, the young woman draws all eyes to herself.</p>
<p>“These used to be my favourite food. Where the hell did you find Goldfish?”</p>
<p>The man in question just grins again. “I’m a Goldfish magnet. I didn’t know they were your favourite, though.”</p>
<p>With a little smirk of her own, Cassandra throws a small cracker Murphy’s way, the man trying and failing to catch it in his mouth, sending a gentle ripple of laughter around the table.</p>
<p>“I like a juicy rib eye with a loaded baked potato.” Doc joins in with all the grinning, the happiness at the table obviously infectious. “Can your psycho food radar find that?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, Doc, you’re one greedy bastard, you know that?”</p>
<p>“Hey, I’m a man who knows what he likes. But if you can’t manage a steak, some more Oreos wouldn’t hurt.” With a hearty chuckle, the old guy leans over to grab the cookie resting near 10k.</p>
<p>But he doesn’t get a chance to even touch it. Lip curling into a snarl, the kid snatches the Oreo away before cradling it protectively against his chest. And just like that, the mood in the room sours.</p>
<p>They’re all taken aback by 10k’s unprecedented reaction, and none more so than Doc himself. Not that Warren can blame him. With their makeshift table filled to the brim with more food than she’s seen in months, there shouldn’t be any reason for the kid to respond like that over a single beaten up cookie. Yet here he is, fixing the old guy with an icy glare while clutching the Oreo tightly in hand. It’s like he’s a prisoner guarding a paltry meal or an abused dog warding off interlopers from his bowl.</p>
<p>And it makes Warren’s heart ache.</p>
<p>As Murphy and Cassandra share a concerned look, Doc lifts his hands placatingly in an attempt to calm the kid down. Warren is able to see the exact moment that 10k realises what he’s just done. His pale eyes widen before dropping to the table, dark brows falling low. His lips curve, a deep frown setting into place. Then, turning the cookie over between nimble fingers, the kid glances up and around the table, eyes shining with shame and regret.</p>
<p>“Nilla Wafers.”</p>
<p>Warren speaks without needing to think. Ten didn’t mean any harm. He wasn’t even aware what he was doing. The kid has no reason to be ashamed. So, with even Ten now watching her with burgeoning curiosity, she smiles.</p>
<p>“Ever tried them? They taste amazing in banana pudding. If Murphy ever sniffs out a box, I might have to keep them for myself, though.” Her smile grows soft, nostalgia tugging her mind back to a time long ago. “We’d always keep a few boxes in the pantry. No one could touch them but me. If Antoine even dared to try, he knew he wouldn’t be walking away with all his fingers.”</p>
<p>10k gazes down at the cookie in his hands, eyes almost sad as he turns it over to run his thumb over a crack. “Didn’t have a… A girlfriend. Before, y’know? But I had…”</p>
<p>Doc eyes light up, glancing over to Warren with a hopeful look. Seems like the old guy had been right, after all.</p>
<p>“A friend?”</p>
<p>At her words, the kid’s lips twitch, a frown threatening to tug the corners back down. It brings with it a realisation, Warren’s own smile turning fond.</p>
<p>“Someone you liked.”</p>
<p>He gives a gentle nod, face softening as he gazes at the cookie. “Would sit together. On a wall or by the crick. We’d always have Oreos. Sometimes milk, too.”</p>
<p>It’s sweet, seeing Ten like this. Whatever that girl may have been to him, she must have been something special for her memory to still bring such a look to this boy’s face.</p>
<p>“Well, I suppose that’s even more reason to celebrate.” Clearing her throat, she lifts her cup of water high, the others soon following suit. “To Murphy. You may be the Mission but today you became our friend. Thank you.”</p>
<p>Doc pats the man on his shoulder. “Here, here.”</p>
<p>Cassandra shifts forward, clinking her bottle against all the others held over the centre of their table. “Cheers.”</p>
<p>And with the toast done and the topic changed from Doc’s unintentional transgression, Warren takes a triumphant sip.</p>
<p>With a gentle chuckle, Murphy shakes his head. “Okay, okay, okay. I only did it to stop Doc’s constant whining.”</p>
<p>The old guy nods his head. “That is totally fair.”</p>
<p>As everyone starts to dig back into their feast, Warren notices that Murphy doesn’t, the man’s food untouched as he openly watches 10k. Then, as the kid finishes up eating his Oreo, the convict speaks.</p>
<p>“You know you’re supposed to drink after a toast, right?”</p>
<p>10k just shrugs. “Drank before.”</p>
<p>At this, Murphy shakes his head in faux admonishment. “You <em>should</em> be drinking more. Look at your lips. They’re all chapped and rough.” He leans forward, his brushed steel canteen held in an outstretched hand. “Want to try taking another sip?”</p>
<p>It doesn’t take the kid long to decide, eyeing up the bottle for a mere few heartbeats before accepting it with an impish grin and taking a swig.</p>
<p>Murphy’s face has never been so fond.</p>
<p>“Good boy.”</p>
<p>With gentle smiles and light laughter returning once more to the table, Warren takes in this unusual band of survivors she’s found herself leading. Cassandra smirks as she flicks a sunflower seed the kid’s way, 10k grinning back at her as he tries to dodge out of the path of the young woman’s vicious assault. Ever paternal Doc shares a smile with Murphy, the old guy clearly grateful at how their normally arrogant convict is helping him cluck about the kid like a mother hen.</p>
<p>And that’s when she realises something else.</p>
<p>Murphy has no real reason to like anyone at this table. They’re effectively his captors, the ones transporting him across the country for another round of experimentation that turns Warren’s stomach just to imagine. And of all the people sitting here, the one she would think he’d care the least about just happens to be the one he’s trying to take care of.</p>
<p>10k is quiet and awkward outside of taking down Zs, the complete opposite of that arrogant man. Most of Murphy’s jokes and tall tales sail right on over the kid’s head, yet more evidence of that aloof boy’s sheltered upbringing. And then there are Ten’s occasional outbursts of anger, something which Murphy has been the unlucky recipient of on more than one occasion. That the convict has enough empathy to not only recognise these unintentional eruptions as a trauma response but to also then help in grounding the kid and even in providing gentle prompts for selfcare…</p>
<p>She really has misread this guy.</p>
<p>And 10k, too.</p>
<p>As Warren twists a strip of beef jerky between her slender fingers, she watches Doc ruffle the kid’s already messy hair. Ten snorts with laughter as sunflower seeds rain down onto his shoulders and bounce across the floor. He really is a sweet kid. It would be easier on her to try and forget that. To just see him as a soldier or as a tool or even as a liability. But moments like this? These precious little glimpses of who he might have been in a more innocent time. Of who he might have become if not for this damn Apocalypse.</p>
<p>Ten Thousand is as human as anyone else sitting here at this table.</p>
<p>Shouldn’t that be enough?</p>
<p><em>Garnett</em>...</p>
<p>Warren had really loved that man. She’d have followed that sweet smile to the ends of the earth and back. Fuck, she’d followed him through the <em>end of the world</em>, and all in a vain attempt to save whatever there is left of humanity.</p>
<p>But now she’s ready.</p>
<p>It’s time.</p>
<p>Antoine and Charlie. There is nothing wrong with treasuring the time that she’d been allowed with those wonderful, loving men as long as she remembers what they now are. Memories of the past. Nothing less, but also nothing more. Something precious that is now gone, though not forgotten.</p>
<p>But she’s still here. So is her team. And they need her.</p>
<p>As she sees Murphy’s eyes crinkle with fondness as he watches Cassandra flicking more sunflower seeds at 10k, determined to pack his messy mop of hair with the little kernels faster than Doc can ruffle them out, Warren allows herself another smile. Sure, it’s a small one, but it’s by no means any less loving than other shining around this table.</p>
<p>Because as much as she’ll always cherish those memories of the past, she doesn’t need a dead man’s final wish to want to protect anyone, least of all her little Rambo.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>~*~*~</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Murphy tugs his jacket tighter, the cool night air bringing an almost welcome reprieve from the summer heat. Almost. The worn leather can’t achieve too much as the chill of that morgue seems to have sunk down deep into his bones.</p>
<p>Wanting them to rest up as much as they can before they start on a ridiculously long hike at first light, Warren had barricaded the main door back up. Not wanting to disturb their sleep as no one should be stuck dealing with a tired and crabby Cassandra, Murphy had been left no choice. If he wants to enjoy some peace and quiet in the night air, he had to climb the stairs up to the roof. It’s flat, thankfully, the rough surface coated with a sparse scattering of grit and gravel. With the short wall running around the perimeter leading to a rather precarious drop to the street below, Murphy decides he’s better off standing.</p>
<p>Rummaging through a jacket pocket to find his lighter, the man glances up towards the sky. There are no clouds tonight and no trees or buildings to obscure his view. The man’s lip curls in disgust. All he can see are those damn stars and their belittling twinkle. Because they know – they fucking know! – what they are to him, and they enjoy <em>every single second</em> <em>of it</em>! Growing up in the city, the night sky was always shrouded by the comforting sea of electric light taking its place. Between that and the ever-present smog from his youth, he’d rarely ever seen the twinkling above. Once the Apocalypse had started and all the city lights had died out, the night sky had begun to shine. And he hates it. Every little sparkling speck is a reminder of all he’s lost and all he’ll never have again. Murphy would give anything to go back to his comforting, starless night.</p>
<p>Lighter found, its flame clicks to life, the cigarette grasped between his lips soon igniting. Taking a deep drag, Murphy savours the gentle burning in his lungs, the warm flow of nicotine almost enough to distract him from the insistent prickle along the back of his neck. A prickle that reminds him that he’s not alone. He’s <em>never</em> alone. And that doesn’t annoy him as much as he’s thought it would. In fact, the young man’s near-constant protective presence is almost soothing.</p>
<p>Just because the door had made no sound when 10k urged it open and slinked out onto the roof, doesn’t mean that the man hasn’t noticed his approach. As heavy boots pad soundlessly behind him, Murphy lifts the cigarette to take another drag. Not that it gets anywhere near his mouth. Slender fingers reach out and whisk it away without a word, the butt pressing instead between chapped pink lips.</p>
<p>“Just take whatever you want, Princess.”</p>
<p>“Anything?”</p>
<p>“Sure, why not.”</p>
<p>Ten exhales, the smoke clearing to reveal his lips now tilted in a lopsided grin. One gloved hand shoots out, gripping onto Murphy’s lapel and yanking him harshly down. Before the man can react, those lips are pressed to his own in a rough though chaste kiss. Then, the young man pulls away without so much as thank you, stalking towards the wall and dropping down onto it, swinging his legs around to hang over the road below. Turning back to look at Murphy as if a kiss between them is the most mundane act in world, 10k holds out the cigarette.</p>
<p><em>Well, it’s not like kissing men is a new experience for Ten, is it? I’ve seen evidence of </em>that<em> first-hand… </em></p>
<p>Deciding to not tempt fate, Murphy instead takes a seat on the roof. Where it’s safe. Like a normal person. Ten passes over the cigarette, not bothering to hide his smirk, instead sitting there like the cat that got the cream. Hell, even the gentle tilt of his head as he gazes down at Murphy seems to radiate a natural, instinctual pride. It’s clear that 10k is used to getting whatever he wants. But despite this, the mood between them remains unaffected. The air in this moment of shared solitude is nice. It’s easy. It’s <em>simple</em>. Murphy will begrudgingly admit that part of him might have been worried that kissing Ten in the morgue could have soured things between them, or at least made the atmosphere while they’re alone a little… awkward. But no. Nothing’s changed. It’s the same as it had been before, excluding Ten’s more cavalier attitude in his flirtations.</p>
<p>With the young man gazing up at the night sky, his face soft as he enjoys that sardonic twinkling, Murphy takes a drag. The man can’t help but wonder. Their lives before the Apocalypse had been so different to each other’s, that much is obvious, but there is still so much about Ten that remains a mystery. He doesn’t even know where the young man’s from. His accent would certainly be out of place where they first picked him up, that’s for sure. Still, if cold and distant Warren of all people had gotten him to speak openly today, then <em>Murphy</em> should have no problem!</p>
<p>Passing the cigarette back to 10k, he holds the young man’s gaze. Hand now empty, Murphy uses it to gesture upwards. “You like them. The stars.”</p>
<p>And Ten smiles, the softness on his face warming those pale eyes as they drift back to the sky. “Yeah.”</p>
<p>“Never really looked at them. Hell, you can’t even see them in the city. All the lights drown them out. Seeing them seems so… unnatural.”</p>
<p>The young man never drops his eyes. “Watched ‘em every night.”</p>
<p>That Ten grew up away from a city is obvious, but that’s about all Murphy knows for sure. And he wants to know more.</p>
<p>“The town where you grew up. What was it like?”</p>
<p>Pale eyes finally meet his own, the dark brows above pulled down with suspicion. Typical.</p>
<p>“Oh, put that look away. It’s just us. No one’s gonna know. Been wondering where you hung out before the Apocalypse.”</p>
<p>Taking one final drag from the cigarette, 10k exhales before flicking the butt away, its glowing ember spinning off into the darkness. Turning, he plants his feet firmly on the safety of the roof. Then, the young man speaks.</p>
<p>“Hunting town. Not much there. But was quiet. I liked it.”</p>
<p>That kind of life – all small towns and simple people – is one that Murphy could see 10k living. It’s not the man’s style, though, much preferring the fast pace and bright lights of the city.</p>
<p>A smirk oozes across Murphy’s face before dripping down to his lips. “You’ve mentioned that before, hunting. Did you have a favourite prey? Besides men, obviously.”</p>
<p>10k’s face doesn’t budge, the young man refusing to rise to the bait. “Hunted mainly elk and deer. Pronghorn, too. And game birds. Snowshoe if I wanted a challenge.”</p>
<p>“Thought you’d hunted bears.”</p>
<p>Ten shrugs. “Only when we had to. They’re big. Hard to take down. A lot of meat, though.”</p>
<p>“We?”</p>
<p>That gets a reaction, some of the softness falling from grey eyes. “Me and Pa.”</p>
<p>Yeah, Murphy’s not gonna touch this one. Ain’t a bargepole long enough. He wants this night to remain a gentle eb and flow, a celebration of his small success. Best to backtrack for now. But that doesn’t mean he can’t file this away for another time.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’d imagine there’d be a lot of meat. Those damn things are huge. What does bear even taste like, anyway?”</p>
<p>“Depends.”</p>
<p>“On what?”</p>
<p>And there it is. The softness returns, bringing with it a small though endearingly lopsided grin. “On what they’ve been eating.”</p>
<p>“What they’ve been… You’re pulling my leg.”</p>
<p>10k shakes his head, that soft-looking dark hair swaying ever so slightly. “No.”</p>
<p>“So, if they’ve been eating fish, they’ll taste fishy?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“And if it was, I don’t know, berries or plants or whatever?”</p>
<p>That small smile grows, making pale eyes shine. “Those were the best.”</p>
<p>“Sounds unpredictable. A flavour like that would be a pain in the ass to properly season. How the hell did you cook it?”</p>
<p>“Gotta make sure any parasites are dead. Best to cook for a long time. Kinda like fatty beef. Pa usually made stew.”</p>
<p>Now that sounds like an interesting meat to work with. If Murphy had known about this before the Apocalypse, he’d have been more than up for the challenge. If bear meat is ideal for stewing, he’d consider making some ropa vieja. It’s simple enough, even if it’s not the man’s favourite flavour palate. Maybe something else, then. Something like a chilli. One that is left to simmer over a low heat for a few hours, letting the flavours develop and penetrate the meat. Spicing it up with ancho and guajillo would give it a rich taste, one simultaneously smoky and fruity. A chilli like that, even if made with hunks of bear meat, would make for an unpretentious dish so it wouldn’t scare 10k away. Murphy would light a few candles and serve it with an equally unpretentious wine. A Californian zinfandel, maybe. He doesn’t usually buy such cheap wine, but anything more would be wasted on an experimental dish made from <em>bear</em>. It’s not like 10k would be able to tell either way. Or even care. Fuck, he wouldn’t put it passed that uncultured little shit to turn his nose up at the glass and request soda instead…</p>
<p>A pang of hunger echoes through his stomach. Murphy may have eaten his fill in the morgue this afternoon, but that doesn’t mean the ‘meal’ had been substantial. To think that the thing that finally pushed his malnourished body over the edge was thinking about how to cook and eat a damn bear! For the sake of his own sanity, he <em>needs</em> to change the subject.</p>
<p>10k doesn’t seem to have noticed the man’s discomfort, those pale grey eyes locked on the sky above. And it’s not just about the food situation, either. The young man might have his feet planted firmly on the roof but that does sweet fuck all on distracting Murphy from the ever-present drop lurking behind. Just because Ten feels he’s secure enough to splay those slender legs out and tilt lithely backwards to better observe the stars doesn’t mean that Murphy does. Ignoring how his hands itch, rough fingers desperate to reach out and drag the young man back solidly onto the roof, he instead flexes his jaw. There is more than one way to skin a cat and just as many to draw his Princess back to safety. And anyway, Murphy has always found himself to be more proficient with words.</p>
<p>“What about mountain lions? Ever hunted one of those?”</p>
<p>The young man’s reaction is immediate, a shudder working its way through his limber frame. Grey eyes are torn from the stars to meet Murphy’s blue, and Ten shakes his head.</p>
<p>Murphy lifts a brow, curious. “Never had the opportunity?”</p>
<p>“No, thank frack.”</p>
<p>Okay, now <em>that</em> gets the man’s attention. “Huh, and here I was thinking you’re a competent hunter.”</p>
<p>A frown tugs at those pink lips. “I am.”</p>
<p>“Then what’s the problem? Didn’t think <em>you</em> of all people would have a problem taking on a cougar. Not with how well you know your way around a rifle.”</p>
<p>Dark brows cinching together, Ten completely missing the joke, instead licking at his lips as his frown deepens. “If I had to, I’d use a pistol. Better at close range.”</p>
<p>Now it’s Murphy’s turn to frown, the motion carving deep, incredulous lines across his face. “Close range? First, you seem reluctant to even entertain the idea, now you’re gonna go toe to toe with the thing? I know I’m a good kisser, Princess, but surely–”</p>
<p>“Murphy.”</p>
<p>Ten’s voice. It’s usually soft, though it can occasionally strain, its edges frayed from underuse. But as the man’s name rolls off his tongue, it carries a new tone. Brings with it a gravity that Murphy hasn’t heard from him before. And it makes the man’s mouth snap shut. As he peers down at Murphy, 10k’s eyes shift, a dark weight now resting where those stars once shone.</p>
<p>“Mountain lions are predators. Almost perfect. You can walk for days in their territory and never see ‘em. But they’ll see you. They’ll <em>stalk</em> you. You won’t even know it. And that’s if they’re only curious.”</p>
<p>As 10k’s head tilts gently to the side and the dark depth of his eyes draw him further in, the man realises something. They both know that the young man’s façade of innocence has long since lost its effect on Murphy. So, this gesture right here – this face that he’s showing the man. It must be something else. It must be <em>hiding</em> something else. Or showing it… But what, Murphy cannot even begin to fathom.</p>
<p>“If they set their sights on you, Murphy. If they decide you’re prey. You still won’t see ‘em. Not as they circle around you. Not as they close in.” Those pink lips tilt, too, the corners lifting in a way that exposes too much teeth. “Not until it’s too late.”</p>
<p>Murphy squirms in place, the loose gravel on the roof digging into this ass. Ten’s leaning. He’s sitting on the wall above the man and <em>leaning</em>. It’s only a little, but it’s there. And it’s enough. Enough to make Murphy feel… What? Uncomfortable? Unsettled? <em>Scared</em>? He doesn’t know. He isn’t sure.</p>
<p>But he also doesn’t care.</p>
<p>Because this is just Ten amusing himself, right? Getting Murphy back for some unknown slight. Maybe the young man had even noticed those jokes before, even if he didn’t understand them. Yeah, that’s all this is. And Murphy shouldn’t even entertain the idea of <em>fearing</em> him! It’s 10k’s job to protect him, after all, and that job is taken seriously. Factor in the young man’s infatuation and the reality of their situation becomes quite clear.</p>
<p>Murphy has nothing to fear from the young man looming overhead as he’s the only person that 10k will never harm.</p>
<p>…Right?</p>
<p>Right.</p>
<p>Right!</p>
<p>That the man now climbs to his feet has nothing to do with their conversation, either.</p>
<p>“See, this is why I liked living in the city. Sure, there was a risk of getting mugged by a crackhead, or even flattened by a minivan full of kids because the mom driving was too busy texting about her skincare pyramid scheme to pay attention to the damn road. But at least I could live with the comfort of knowing I wasn’t gonna get clawed to death by a big cat while out buying bagels.”</p>
<p>At that, the little amused glint usually shining in Ten’s eyes makes a merciful return. “They’re big and they’re cats, but they’re not big cats. Don’t claw to kill, either.”</p>
<p>“If a cat being big doesn’t qualify it as a big cat, then what the fuck does?”</p>
<p>“Genus <em>Panthera</em>. Or being able to roar. Depends who you ask.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Princess, but if a giant ball of fluff and claws comes bursting out of the woods, I’m not exactly going to try engaging it in polite conversation as it mauls me so I know whether to call it a lion or a pussycat.”</p>
<p>The gentle snort of laughter that elicits from the young man is a welcome one. One that he’d been hoping to coax forth. One that brings the air around them back to that beloved simplicity. But it also leaves one little question itching away in the back of his mind. And it’s not going to go away any time soon. So, he might as well get this over with.</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m going to regret this…</em>
</p>
<p>“How do they kill? Mountain lions.”</p>
<p>“Bite their prey’s neck. Suffocate ‘em.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Yup. Called it.</em>
</p>
<p>With Ten’s attention now drifting back to the stars above, Murphy rustles in his pocket. After that ordeal of a conversation, no one could blame the man for wanting a little treat. Something nice to take his mind off it. Drawing out another cigarette, his lighter quickly clicks to life, and he takes a much-needed drag. As he exhales, the puffy cloud is whisked away by a gentle night breeze and Murphy braces for the cigarette to be wordlessly snatched away. But it isn’t. 10k doesn’t even seem to have noticed it, grey eyes still lifted towards the heavens.</p>
<p>Murphy holds the cigarette out, nudging the young man’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “You really like the stars, huh? Never understood what’s so great about them.”</p>
<p>10k accepts it with a smile. “They’re pretty.”</p>
<p>“Lots of things are ‘pretty’, Princess. You don’t stare at them like this, though.”</p>
<p>Those pink lips crack open, a thin curl of smoke licking its way out as Ten mulls over his words. Then, he exhales with a shrug. “They have stories.”</p>
<p>“The constellations?”</p>
<p>Ten’s face washes over with a youthful joy as he turns to face the man. “You know ‘em?”</p>
<p>“Some, yeah. But I preferred to get my entertainment from TV and radio. Or books. You know, like a normal person.”</p>
<p>The young man’s only response is a playful roll of his eyes before turning his attention once again to the sky. And it’s not enough. Murphy wants more.</p>
<p>“You have a favourite?”</p>
<p>“Constellation?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, or story.”</p>
<p>After passing the cigarette back, 10k cranes his head around, searching the heavens. Though he may be confident in how his body twists lithely where it perches above that precarious drop, Murphy isn’t. But before the man can finally give in to instinct and snatch the little shit away from the edge, Ten springs to his feet. As he quietly pads his way over to the other side of the roof, 10k doesn’t even bother to check that Murphy is following. He doesn’t need to. Because Murphy follows him without a word.</p>
<p>A gloved hand lifts, one slender finger pointing at the sky. “Gemini.”</p>
<p>Unable to discern which tiny grouping of twinkling lights the young man is talking about, Murphy crowds in behind him. Not that he needs an excuse to be so close to Ten. They’re both adults and they can do whatever the fuck they want. But it still feels nice to have a reason to fall back on. A little plausible deniability. Just in case. As his empty hand falls to the young man’s hip, a finger lazily trailing along that familiar slither of soft skin, Murphy rests his chin on Ten’s shoulder. Gazing along the young man’s outstretched arm allows him to track its progress as it traces over the constellation, but it also allows him to nuzzle in close.</p>
<p>Murphy has never noticed 10k’s scent before. Why would he? But with his face pressed in as he loosely holds the young man, its presence is inescapable. Though his clothes are tinged with the acrid bitterness of cigarette smoke and a hint of fresh summer sweat lingers on his skin, underneath lays a heart that is as rich as it is thick. It’s not a scent Murphy would know how to name, simultaneously earthy and sweet, roses left in a vase a week too long. But just because it’s as unusual as it is unexpected, doesn’t mean the man must find it unpleasant. Quite the contrary.</p>
<p>“Do you know the story?”</p>
<p>Ten’s voice is a soft fluttering across Murphy’s ears, the man reluctant to move away, comfortable as he is wrapped around him. A warmth radiates from this young man. A warmth that seeps deep and soothes the cold ache in Murphy’s bones. A warmth that he could never find elsewhere.</p>
<p>“Gemini? They’re twins, right?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Murphy doesn’t need to look at Ten to know that those pink lips have twitched up into a gentle smile. He can hear it in his voice. “Castor and Pollux.”</p>
<p>Letting the forgotten cigarette slip from his grasp, Murphy snakes a second arm around 10k, holding his Princess closer. “Tell me.”</p>
<p>“They were twins–”</p>
<p>“I’d guessed that.”</p>
<p>“–but only Castor was mortal. Pollux was a son of Zeus, so he was immortal.”</p>
<p>“Wait. They’re twins but have different dads? How the hell does that work?”</p>
<p>A gentle laugh ripples through Ten’s chest. “Zeus seduced their mom while pretending to be a swan.”</p>
<p>“…What?” The laughter grows, the young man now shaking in his arms. “Actually, never mind. I don’t want to know.”</p>
<p>“They did everything together, the twins. Even sailed with Jason on the Argo. Saved the ship from a storm. But Castor was mortal. He died in battle. Pollux didn’t know what to do. They’d never been apart. They were meant to be together. So, he begged Zeus to bring Castor back. And Zeus agreed.” Ten leans back into Murphy’s chest, the young man’s eyes slipping closed, content. “He lifted Castor and Pollux into the sky, turning ‘em into stars. And they were happy. All they wanted was to be at each other’s side. No matter what they had to become.”</p>
<p>It’s a surprisingly bittersweet story, and not one that Murphy would think 10k would hold dear. The softness caressing the young man’s features proves otherwise. It obviously holds some significance to Ten, some deeper meaning hidden just beneath the surface of his words. With the night sky twinkling overhead as they’re wrapped in each other’s warmth, even a guy as jaded as Murphy could forgive himself for feeling twinge of romance.</p>
<p>He doesn’t fight the fond smile tugging at his lips.</p>
<p>“Well, aren’t you a sneaky little shit. Trying to set the mood, huh?”</p>
<p>Ten may make a valiant effort at supressing his own lopsided grin, but it fails beautifully. “Depends. Did it work?”</p>
<p>“Hmm… Not sure. Guess you’ll have to try it to find out.”</p>
<p>Pale grey eyes light up, the young man lithely twisting in Murphy’s arms until they’re face to face. Gloved hands lift, smoothing over the man’s lapels as they venture up to his shoulders then around to the back of his neck. Ten rises into his tiptoes, bringing his face closer to Murphy’s and–</p>
<p>And then stops.</p>
<p>He doesn’t move any further, eyes half-lidded as they lock onto Murphy’s, amusement dancing across his face. Amusement that the man can only meet with annoyance. Then realisation. This isn’t an act of defiance or hesitation. No, his little shit of a Princess is just being his usual self, trying to goad Murphy into initiating their kiss himself.</p>
<p>The man obliges.</p>
<p>His hands tighten on Ten’s hips, fingers pressing into the taut muscle. Then, he leans down, closing the gap to press his lips against smirking pink. The change in the young man is immediate, gloved hands tugging him further downwards as slender fingers scrape into Murphy’s hair. 10k’s unyielding requests to deepen the kiss are granted, the young man’s pleased hum smothered between them.</p>
<p>It’s… <em>different</em>, kissing someone who isn’t a woman. Different but not unpleasant. Far from it, in fact. The body wrapped in his arms is as slender and graceful as he’s come to expect but beneath his soft skin, 10k is hard. Firm. <em>Strong</em>. All coiled tendons and toned muscle. Even as Murphy pulls the young man flush against himself, there is an unspoken power in that body. One that serves to remind him that his Princess will only maintain this pliable façade as long as his demands are met. And as a gloved hand drops from the man’s neck to slide instead under his leather jacket and scrape along scarred flesh, Murphy knows it’s something he’ll do well to remember.</p>
<p>That wandering hand slips higher to tease along the outside of the man’s ribs, Ten soon breaking the kiss. He doesn’t fully pull away, though, instead leaving a trail of kisses down a stubbled jaw. As an appreciative rumble works its way up Murphy’s throat, those kisses start their journey down, pink lips soon parting as teeth tease at</p>
<p>as teeth tease</p>
<p>as teeth <em>tear</em></p>
<p>
  <em>tear into flesh</em>
</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>10k leaps away, putting distance between them as soon as that word spills from Murphy’s mouth. His face holds no anger or resentment, though. No, the only thing dancing through those pale eyes is concern. Concern for Murphy.</p>
<p>The man shakes his head, dislodging those hostile memories. It’s been a while since they’ve been so intrusive, what with the Zs posing so little threat to him these days. That they’d come back during such a tender moment is… unexpected. As unexpected as feeling the young man gently biting along his neck. But that’s not how Ten might have interpreted this. It’s not like he can read Murphy’s mind!</p>
<p>“That’s not what I’m after, Ten. Not what I want.”</p>
<p>Dark brows crease over pale eyes, 10k’s tongue peeking out to lap at frowning lips. With a sigh, Murphy holds a hand out, an attempt to coax the young man back to his side.</p>
<p>Ten takes it.</p>
<p>“W-what <em>do</em> you want?”</p>
<p>And… that’s a good question. The man isn’t sure. Fuck, a few weeks ago he would have laughed at the idea of even <em>kissing</em> the beautiful young man peering up at him, all wide-eyed and as innocent-looking as someone with a kill count in the thousands can be. But what Murphy <em>does</em> know is that this kissing thing is something that he’s strangely okay with.</p>
<p>With as loyal as 10k has proven himself to be, the least Murphy owes him is honesty.</p>
<p>“I don’t know.”</p>
<p>Ten’s eyes drop, the young man nodding as he turns to pull away. Not that he gets very far. Murphy tightens his grip on his hand, refusing to let him leave.</p>
<p>“I haven’t finished, Ten.”</p>
<p>Those dark brows dip lower, curiosity laced with a tentative hope flittering across his face.</p>
<p>“I like kissing you, Ten.”</p>
<p>“Y-you do?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, and I want to do it again.”</p>
<p>“Right now?”</p>
<p>“Of course, right now. The night is still young, after all. It would be a shame to waste it. But that’s all I want, Ten. I want to kiss you, but I don’t want anything more.”</p>
<p>And he nods. Just like that, no questions asked, Ten nods. “Okay.”</p>
<p>“Okay? You’re sure?”</p>
<p>“Murphy.” 10k’s frown is scalding, the young man clearly unimpressed. “Not gonna do something you don’t want.”</p>
<p>That brings another fond smile to his face. One that he hopes shines with every ounce of tenderness flowing through his chest. “Such a gentleman. Now, come here.”</p>
<p>He tugs Ten back in, his other hand lifting to graze along a pale cheek before tilting the young man’s chin upwards. As Murphy leans down and presses his lips once more to enchanting pink, that hand wanders further, content to slide into hair of starless night.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And with this chapter, another story comes to an end. There were some long breaks here and there, thanks to a lot of IRL work having deadlines close together, but I hope it was worth the wait.</p>
<p>My very early notes for this series (which were handwritten!) have 'Près des remparts de Séville' scribbled in the margins which, if you've never heard it, is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sHjnVz7Ayyw">a surprisingly accurate song</a> for this arc in 10k and Murphy's developing relationship.</p>
<p>I hope that you enjoyed this chapter, and this story overall, and I'd love to hear what you think, good and bad. The next story will be started as soon as I find time.</p>
<p>As always, thanks for reading, and take care!</p>
<p>&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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